


Easy as Life

by shions_heart



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: (kinda), Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Arranged Marriage, Depression, Eventual Smut, Falling In Love, M/M, Master/Servant, Minor Pairings: married!daisuga and hints of yakulev, Mutual Pining, Panic Attacks, Parent Death, Politics, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, king!kuroo/servant!kenma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-11-22
Packaged: 2020-12-29 00:37:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 42,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21145856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shions_heart/pseuds/shions_heart
Summary: As the recently appointed king of Nekoma, Kuroo Tetsurou has many responsibilities, and the welfare of his people must his top priority. So when his advisor suggests he marry the princess of Karasuno to unite the two kingdoms (which will strengthen their army and add to their resources), he knows it's the right thing to do.But his brain wars with his heart when he runs into Kozume Kenma, one of the palace servants, and their relationship grows despite Kuroo's attempts to keep his selfish desires in check.





	1. Every Story is a Love Story

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is already complete, so I'll be posting chapters every monday night/friday morning, as I edit them (and work on my other wips).
> 
> this is an idea I've had since 2015 ;;; it's heavily inspired by the song "easy as life" from the musical _aida_ (fantastic song, tragic musical). if you listen to it, you'll get the overall vibe/theme of this fic 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy it!
> 
> ((there's a panic attack in this chapter. if that's triggering for you, please stop at "The silence that follows" and CTRL/Command + F to "He pulls his legs up"))

it's knowing what they want of me that scares me  
it's knowing, having followed, i must lead  
it's knowing that each person there compares me  
to those in my past whom i now succeed  
but how can whatever i do for them now be enough?  
be enough

\-- elton john, _aida_, "dance of the robe"

* * *

“. . . and resources. I really think this is the best course of action.”

Morisuke’s watching him expectantly, and Kuroo blinks, realizing he’s completely spaced out. He glances over at Nobuyuki, but the man just gives him a placid smile. Straightening his spine, Kuroo looks back over to Morisuke, who’s now regarding him with impatience.

“Sorry. What was that again?”

Morisuke heaves a long-suffering sigh. “Your desire to unite the kingdoms, heika. Nekoma and Karasuno against Nohebi? I believe marriage is the best option. Princess Hitoka is of age, and it would strengthen the alliance greatly. We will have a share of their resources, and with Nohebi mobilizing near our borders, I think it’s necessary to show we have strong allies at our backs.”

Kuroo grimaces, remembering now the topic of this meeting. It’s not a bad idea, by all accounts. He’d just always hoped to rule Nekoma without needing a Queen. Having access to Karasuno’s land and armies will definitely help, and maybe even deter Daishou over in Nohebi from stepping foot into Nekoma. But the thought of marrying a stranger, a _woman_ at that . . . it flips his stomach over before it settles like a stone in his gut.

“Uh. Yeah,” he says with a weak smile. “You’re right, of course.” That’s why he chose Morisuke as his official advisor, isn’t it? To help him come up with ideas on how to keep Nekoma strong, how to rule well and justly. When Kuroo’s father died a year ago, he felt wholly unprepared to take his place as king, despite his training and schooling. Appointing his childhood friends and classmates, Yaku Morisuke and Kai Nobuyuki, as his advisors was a last-ditch effort to convince himself he could do this.

Now, though, everything’s grown heavy, again. The weight of knowing what he should do battling with what his heart wants. He’s sure he can come to love Yachi Hitoka, Princess of Karasuno; it’s very easy for him to love. But he’s sure he’ll never fall _in_ love with her, and that’s a feeling he’s been chasing without luck since he was sixteen.

At twenty-two, he’s starting to think he’ll never get to experience it.

“Yes, send a letter to King Sawamura explaining the request,” he says, rising from his cushion, then. “Here’s hoping he doesn’t mind his baby sister marrying someone like me.” He smirks half-heartedly.

The other two stand as well. Yamamoto Taketora and Haiba Lev shift closer to him, hands resting lightly on the katana at their sides.

“Sir! The princess would be lucky to marry such an esteemed and thoughtful king, sir!” Taketora shouts loyally. 

“I agree, heika sir!” Lev chimes in, just as loud.

Kuroo rubs the back of his neck, honestly appreciating their words, but not entirely sure how to take them. Morisuke and Nobuyuki both bow deeply; Morisuke gives Lev a look out of the corner of his eye that makes Lev stand straighter at attention, lips pursed. Kuroo wants to ask what _that’s_ all about, eager for distraction, but Morisuke rolls up his map and leaves the room before he can.

“Do you want me to send tea to your chambers, heika?” Nobuyuki asks, sympathy in his eyes.

Kuroo doesn’t know what to do with that, either. Back in school, Nobuyuki and Morisuke were his closest confidantes. Now, he feels like he shouldn’t confide in them too much, weigh them down with the burden of his doubts and fears. They have enough to handle in their new positions in the palace, and while sometimes he misses the easy banter and conversations they used to have beneath the wisteria trees, he knows he can’t do any of this without them by his side.

It’s a blessing and a curse, it seems. He gains two loyal advisors who he knows he can trust with any task, but he loses his two best friends.

“Yeah, that’d be great, thanks ‘Yuki,” Kuroo says with a fond smile.

Nobuyuki bows again before leaving. Running his hands over his face, Kuroo turns toward his bodyguards. “I’m going to take a walk,” he says, moving towards the door, then.

Taketora and Lev follow him on either side. He makes his way to the path that surrounds the courtyard, every now and then passing servants who stop and drop to the ground to bow with their foreheads pressed to stone as he walks by. He smiles and waves, each time embarrassed by the display. He’s content with a simple bow at the waist, or even just a nod of the head, but the show of respect is so ingrained in them from generations of royal tradition, he’s given up repeating himself each time.

The weather outside is pleasant, the smell of the wisteria trees wafting on the light breeze, the sun shining brightly overhead. He’s protected from it by the overhanging roof over the path, but he heads for the archway that will lead into the gardens, always feeling more at peace there than within the walls of the palace, despite having grown up there.

He steps forward eagerly once he sees the red pillars, and immediately stumbles into someone. Lev catches his arm, so he doesn’t fall, but the other isn’t so lucky. They tumble to the ground, landing on their backside, and a tray clatters to the stone between them and Kuroo, tea spilling out of a broken pot. A cup rolls across the stone to land in the dirt.

“HEY! WATCH WHERE YOU’RE GOING!” Taketora roars, hopping forward to grab the servant by the front of the white yukata all the servants wear in the spring and summer months (switching to warmer white kimonos for the fall and winter ones).

“_He_ ran into _me_,” the servant mutters, surprising Kuroo with their irritable tone. Their hair is jet black and framing their face, falling to just beneath their chin. Right now, their head is down, making the hair swing forward to hide their expression. “He should watch where _he’s_ going.”

“Ah, ‘Tora,” Kuroo says, knowing it was his own fault. He steps forward, ready to apologize, but Taketora continues like he didn’t hear him.

“HE’S THE _KING_! HE DOESN’T NEED TO WATCH WHERE HE’S GOING!”

This causes the servant’s head to raise, and Kuroo finds himself frozen in place by the intensity of the bright, golden eyes that flash from behind the curtain of black hair.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” the servant hisses, pushing their fists against Taketora’s chest in an attempt to get away. “Let go of me.”

“Not until you apologize!” Taketora shakes the servant so their head wobbles back and forth.

“It wasn’t my fault!” the servant says, their own voice rising now, as they begin to punch harder at Taketora’s chest. “Let me go!”

“Hey, look, nobody got hurt, it’s fine,” Kuroo says quickly, guilt twisting his stomach into knots. Lev’s watching all of this with green eyes growing wider and wider, glancing between Kuroo and his fellow bodyguard, not sure what to do. Kuroo sighs. “Taketora, let him go. It’s fine. I’m the one who should apologize.”

Taketora releases the servant, turning to Kuroo with wide, watery eyes.

“Heika!” he exclaims, fist pressed over his heart. “You are a good and merciful king, heika!”

Kuroo resists the urge to roll his eyes. He kneels on the ground, carefully picking up the pieces of broken ceramic, setting them on the tray.

“Um, heika, should you really be kneeling in the dirt like that? The servant can clean it up,” Lev says, sounding more curious than anything else.

“I can clean up my own messes, thank you Lev,” Kuroo says, shaking his head.

After a moment, the servant kneels across from him, reaching to help pick up what’s left of the teapot.

“I’m sorry. You’re right. I should’ve been paying attention,” Kuroo says earnestly, looking up and hoping to catch a glimpse of the servant’s face.

They’ve ducked their head again, though, hiding behind their hair. They don’t say anything, as they finish setting the rest of the pot on the tray. Both the servant and Kuroo reach for the teacup in the dirt, hesitating when they realize what the other is doing. Laughing sheepishly, Kuroo leans forward, picking up the cup and handing it to the servant.

“Here,” he says with a smile. “Sorry again for the trouble.”

“Thanks,” the servant mutters, lifting the tray as they stand. They skirt around Lev to hurry down the path.

Kuroo stands slowly, watching them go. He’s never seen a servant act so openly defiant before, especially in front of the king. Kuroo’s father wouldn’t have stood for it, would’ve punished it somehow. He can’t help but feel gratified, though. For once he was treated like a normal person, like he feels he was just eighteen months ago. A familiar ache curls through his chest, and he rubs at his sternum absently.

“Heika?” Taketora’s watching him closely, concern in his frown.

“I’m fine,” Kuroo assures him, smiling again. He steps around the splatter of tea on the stone and makes his way toward the red pillars once more.

“That boy should be punished,” Taketora mutters. “Nobody runs into _my_ king and doesn’t apologize.”

“It really was Kuroo-sama’s fault, though,” Lev points out helpfully.

Taketora shoots him a murderous glare. “That doesn’t matter, Lev!” he exclaims, waving his arms in the air. “He’s the _king_! We’re not only supposed to protect his life, but also his dignity!”

“Guys, seriously, I really don’t mind,” Kuroo insists, feeling even more worn out than he had in the meeting. “Just let it go. No harm was done.”

Taketora still grumbles some under his breath, but Lev drops the topic, exclaiming over the beauty of the camellias, azaleas and other flora once they hit the garden. Kuroo finds a bench to sit and watches as Lev goes about picking a bouquet for “Yaku-dono,” as a thank you for something. Kuroo can’t really imagine Morisuke accepting something like flowers as a gift, but the thought of him holding a bouquet as big as his head makes him smile, so he doesn’t deter the lad.

Instead, his thoughts wander toward the rude servant. _Is_ he a boy, as Taketora said? Kuroo can’t recall anyone matching his description from his childhood days, or even his teen and young adult years. He’s pretty sure he’d remember him. Is he new to the palace? That might explain his lack of proper manners.

He can’t help but be interested in finding out who he is, exactly. Despite himself, he’s oddly refreshed by the rudeness. He kind of wants the guy to be rude to him again, though that doesn’t make any sense.

Either way, he’s thoroughly distracted from the topic of the meeting earlier, enough so that his heart sinks in his chest when he retires to his chambers for the night and sees Morisuke there holding the letter for his approval.

Kuroo waves him off, passing by him to step over to his wardrobe, shedding the top layer of his kimono himself, despite the fact that he has servants to undress him. “I trust you said everything well,” he says, when Morisuke starts to protest.

“It still needs your signature.” Morisuke crosses over to Kuroo’s desk by the window, unfurling the scroll and gesturing to it.

“Can’t you just use the seal?”

“We’ll use the seal and the signature.”

Kuroo sighs, stepping over to pick up the brush, dipping it into the ink before signing his name at the bottom of the letter with a half-hearted flourish. He doesn’t try to read any of it, turning away almost immediately. He pauses before he continues undressing, though, realizing that if anyone should know the servant’s identity, it would be Morisuke.

“Hey, Mori,” he says lightly. “I came across a servant I didn’t recognize today. Short, with black hair about chin-length, big golden eyes, kind of a slight figure . . . I couldn’t tell if they were a man or a woman, though Taketora called them ‘boy.’”

Morisuke taps his chin in thought, waiting for the signature to dry. “Hmm, we hired a few new servants within the past couple months. Nobuyuki noticed a few getting up there in age that should retire, so we encouraged new applicants.”

“And?” Kuroo watches him expectantly.

“I think you’re talking about Kozume Kenma,” Morisuke says with a snap of his fingers. “He’s one of the youngest we hired. Only twenty-one.”

Kuroo blinks. “Really? He looks younger than that.”

“He’s small, yeah, but he said he needs the money for his family. They live in one of our poorer districts and apparently have been struggling the past few years. He’s not very strong, but he’s stubborn. We put him in the kitchens, I think. And he does general housekeeping too, when not preparing meals.”

Kuroo chews on his lip. “Do you think you could have someone send for him?”

Is that too presumptuous? Too forward? He worries for a moment before remembering he’s the king and therefore can do whatever he wants.

“Of course,” Morisuke says, leaning across the desk to pick up the wax, melting the edge of it on one of the lit candles in the windowsill, allowing the wax to drip onto the paper. Then, taking Kuroo’s hand, he turns it knuckle side down to press his ring into the wax, completing the seal.

Kuroo rolls his eyes. “You could’ve just asked for the ring,” he says.

“You’re not supposed to let anyone touch it,” Morisuke reminds him pointedly.

“Yeah, but you’re not just anyone.”

He likes the way Morisuke flushes, the pink blending his faint freckles together.

“Yes, well,” Morisuke sputters, hurrying to roll up the letter. He takes a step back, clutching it in his hand. “I’ll give this to a messenger tonight and have someone send for Kozume.” He bows before turning for the door.

“Hey Mori,” Kuroo calls after him, leaning back against the desk, crossing his arms over his chest.

Morisuke pauses, glancing back at him. “Yes, heika?”

“Do you ever miss how things were before? How . . . uncomplicated everything was?”

Morisuke purses his lips. “It doesn’t do anyone any good to dwell on the past.”

“Does that mean you regret taking this position?”

Morisuke shakes his head. “No. I was honored to be requested.”

Kuroo gives him a crooked half-smile. “Are you just saying that because you think you have to?”

Morisuke glares. “Am I the type of guy to try and spare your feelings?” he asks sharply.

Kuroo laughs. “I guess not,” he admits.

“I know there’s a lot going on, and you’ve got a lot on your shoulders,” Morisuke says, his tone softening. “Nobody really gave you a chance to grieve your father either. It must be difficult. But that’s why Nobuyuki and I are here, to help you carry the load. We _want_ to be here. You’re our best friend, not just our king.”

Kuroo smiles, warmth blooming in his chest. “Thanks, Mori.”

Morisuke nods curtly. “Don’t stay up too late,” he says, before leaving.

Shoving off the desk, Kuroo crosses to his wardrobe once more, peeling off the rest of his layers before changing into a pair of long jinbei pants, preferring to sleep bare-chested in the warmer months. He grabs a book from one of his many bookshelves, bringing it over to his bed along with the candle. He reclines in bed with the book, reading about kings much more competent than he, until he hears a soft knock on his door.

“Come in,” he calls, sitting up and resting a faded bookmark on his current page, before setting the book beside him.

The door slides open slowly, a young servant stepping inside. Kuroo’s heart starts beating faster in his chest as he recognizes the cut of the hair, the quick flash of golden eyes behind it, as Kozume Kenma glances around the room curiously.

“Hey, Kuroo-sama, is it all right that he’s in here?” Lev pokes his head past the doorway to peer into the room.

“Yes, Lev, I sent for him,” Kuroo assures his guard, swinging his legs over the side of the bed to sit on its edge.

“Mmm, all right. Shout if he attacks you again,” Lev’s voice lilts with amusement, and he laughs to himself as he slides the door shut. Kuroo remembers he forgot to ask Morisuke if he liked his flowers and makes a mental note to do that later.

“So, uh, hi,” he says, folding his hands in his lap, as he watches Kozume watch the floor. “I didn’t catch your name earlier, so I got it from one of my advisors. It’s Kozume, right? Kozume Kenma?”

Kozume nods, once.

Kuroo frowns. There’s no sign of the irritable, rude servant from earlier. He looks perfectly docile now, almost shy, as he stares at his feet. Kuroo isn’t entirely sure what to say. In fact, he realizes he didn’t think this through at all. He must seem completely deranged, asking an unfamiliar servant into his chambers to simply stare at him.

“You know . . . it’s customary to bow when you enter the same room as the king,” he says after a moment.

Kozume bows stiffly from the waist, a quick up and down movement that feels completely contrived.

Kuroo can’t help but chuckle softly. “You don’t really have a lot of respect for authority, huh?”

“Have you earned my respect? You haven’t really done anything . . .”

Kuroo blinks, surprised by that response. “I’ve only been king for a year,” he points out.

All he gets is a dead-eye stare from behind strands of black. He sighs, running a hand through his hair agitatedly.

“I’m trying, all right? This shit is hard. A lot harder than I thought it’d be. I thought I’d get years more of training and tutoring. My dad got sick so unexpectedly, and then . . .” He rubs the back of his neck, chewing on his lip. “It’s so much. I’ve got nobles breathing down my neck about land taxes, I’ve got the middle class expanding and outgrowing their districts, and I’ve got the lower class starving in the streets. Not to mention fucking Daishou over in Nohebi nudging our borders, dangling a war above my head. I’m trying my best, here.”

Kozume tilts his head to the side. “Don’t you have people to help you with those kinds of things?”

“Yeah, but the final decision on everything has to be mine. My seal has to be on everything, which means if anything goes wrong that’s on me too.” Kuroo grimaces, rubbing his forehead. He’s not sure why he’s unloading all this onto Kozume, a servant who probably couldn’t care less about his problems. He’s doing all he can just to put food on his family’s table; what does he care about the nobles’ land taxes? Or Kuroo’s inferiority complex?

“Sorry. I don’t mean to dump all this on you,” he says, lowering his hand. He stares down at it, clenching his fingers together. “I don’t even really know why I asked for you. I just . . . this morning I agreed to ask Karasuno’s princess to marry me. They have resources we could use, and an army that might make Daishou back off if it joins with ours. But it’s not what I want. Not really. I don’t . . .” He hesitates, wincing at the words as they come, “like women. In that way.”

The silence that follows that admission feels heavy. He’s never said that aloud before. Has never dared to admit to it, even to his closest friends. Kuroo swallows hard, his heart hammering away in a chest that suddenly feels too small for it. It pounds frantically, searching for more space, more air. He inhales sharply, but it’s too shallow a breath. He can’t fully expand his lungs to ease the tightening around his heart. He tries again and again, faster, as spots appear in his vision. He can’t breathe. His lungs have shrunk. He can’t get enough air in them.

He finds himself sliding off the bed, dropping to his knees on the floor, clutching at his chest, as he gasps desperately.

A small, warm hand settles on his back, and another presses against his chest.

“Hey,” a low voice says sharply. “Calm down. You need to breathe.”

“I-I can’t,” Kuroo gasps, his voice thin. He shakes his head, even as he tries to obey. He feels like a fish out of water, flopping around as it dies slowly. Is he dying? Is that what this is?

“Yes, you can,” the voice says again firmly, like it’s a matter of fact. “Breathe. Deep, slow inhale, hold it for a count of five, and then slow exhale. Do it.”

Kuroo struggles to comply. His chest feels like it’s being stabbed by a thousand knives, but he tries to push past the sensation, opening up his lungs as he takes a deep breath, holding it as instructed, before releasing it slowly.

“Again.”

He does it again, and he finds it’s easier this time. Over and over he inhales and exhales with slow breaths that tremble as they slide past his lips. But gradually they even out, until they feel natural again. He pulls his legs up, setting his elbows on his knees, as he places his palms against his forehead. Kozume shifts to kneel beside him, and Kuroo can feel his gaze fixed on him.

“I know it’s not . . . uncommon,” he says hoarsely after a moment. “But as king I’m expected to have an heir. And to marry someone without knowing them, without knowing if I can ever love them . . . _knowing_ I probably can’t. It sounds like a nightmare. Not just for me, but for her. She doesn’t deserve that. She doesn’t deserve this.”

Kozume doesn’t say anything. For a long moment they remain that way, neither speaking, until Kuroo’s heart eventually stops trying to escape out of his throat. He lowers his hands, crossing his arms loosely over his knees, staring at them.

“Well. There’s probably no way you’ll ever respect me after a display like that, huh?” He smirks half-heartedly.

“Being king doesn’t mean you can’t be vulnerable,” Kozume says, shaking his head. “Sure, you probably shouldn’t fall apart like this in public, but in here . . .” He glances around the room. “These are your chambers, aren’t they? You can do whatever you want, in here.”

Kuroo looks over at him. He’s kneeling with his hands on his thighs, curled into light fists. His head is tilted slightly, so that enough hair falls to the side to reveal a single golden eye, studying him. Hesitantly, Kuroo reaches up to brush the rest of Kozume’s hair away from his face. Kozume flinches and pulls back from his touch.

“Sorry,” Kuroo says, feeling like he can’t do anything right today.

“No, I just . . . I get anxious if my field of vision is too wide,” Kozume murmurs, turning his face away.

“Oh.” Kuroo considers that. “You didn’t seem that anxious earlier when you were yelling at Taketora. Or just now helping me through . . . whatever that was.”

“That was a panic attack,” Kozume informs him. “And Taketora pissed me off.”

“Ah, so you grow courage when you’re pissed off,” Kuroo teases gently, hoping Kozume doesn’t mind.

Thankfully it seems like he doesn’t, though he does give Kuroo a withering look. Kuroo grins before it fades, and he tilts his head back to lean it against his bed with a sigh, staring up at the ceiling.

“Am I doing the right thing by marrying Karasuno’s princess?”

“Why are you asking me?”

“Well . . . because you’re here. And I get the feeling you’ll be brutally honest with me.”

Kozume doesn’t respond for a moment. When he does, his words are careful, measured. “It’s probably the right thing for Nekoma, which, as king, you’re supposed to do the right thing for it.”

“Right. Yeah. That’s what I thought,” Kuroo admits, closing his eyes, guessing he should just resign himself to his fate.

“But . . . I don’t think it’s wrong to want more for yourself,” Kozume adds softly. “The situation isn’t fair, for you or for the princess. So . . . just do your best to make it as painless as possible, I guess.”

“How do I do that, exactly?” Kuroo asks, lowering his head to look over at him.

Kozume shrugs. “Maybe you should ask her what she wants. The two of you could probably come up with a plan together to at least get something good for yourselves out of the marriage.”

Kuroo stares at him for a moment, wondering why it feels so simple and natural speaking to him, like he’s been doing it his whole life. Everything Kozume has said feels right and insightful and helpful for _Kuroo_ specifically . . . it’s different from when he asks Morisuke or Nobuyuki for advice these days. Their thoughts are skewed toward helping Nekoma, as they should be. But Kozume . . . he doesn’t have that responsibility. He can look at things from a personal perspective, knowing Kuroo can either take the advice or leave it. It probably won’t affect him, either way.

“That’s a good idea,” Kuroo admits. He glances toward the door, knowing he can’t keep Kozume in his room forever. Or, well, he _could_, but it wouldn’t be right. “I should let you go. I have no idea how early you have to get up to help prepare breakfast.”

“Too early,” Kozume admits, moving to stand. He pauses, holding his hand out to Kuroo.

It takes him a moment to realize he’s offering to help him up. Kuroo takes the hand, using the firm grip as leverage to hoist himself up to his feet. He marvels for a moment at how well Kozume’s hand fits in his, before it releases him and falls away.

“Can I call on you again?” he finds himself asking, as Kozume turns toward the door.

Kozume glances back at him, a smirk half-hidden behind his hair. “You’re the king, aren’t you?”

“Er, right,” Kuroo says, thinking that doesn’t exactly answer his question, even as Kozume slides the door back and disappears outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://shions-heart.tumblr.com/


	2. No Chip Off Any Block

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i know i said i'd update every friday, but i'm impatient when it comes to sharing my stories, so y'all will be getting updates twice a week instead~

don't assume your vices  
get handed down the line;  
that a parent's blood suffices  
to condemn the child's design

\-- elton john, _aida_, "like father, like son"

* * *

It takes three days for Kuroo to get a response from Karasuno. Three days that would’ve been agony if not for Kozume. He’s one of the servants that brings breakfast out in the mornings. Kuroo never noticed before, but there he is, all of a sudden, the morning after Kuroo’s panic attack, walking in quietly behind head chef Naoi Manabu, as he announces the meal. Kuroo tries to catch his eye, but he either doesn’t notice or ignores him, as he sets the plates out in front of Kuroo, Morisuke, and Nobuyuki. He’s given up trying to get Taketora and Lev to eat with them. Lev sprang forward when he first suggested it, but Taketora held him back and said they ate with the rest of the staff before breakfast. Kuroo hates how they just stand there watching while he eats, but it can’t be helped, apparently.

Kuroo catches sight of Kozume again later on in the day when he takes his walk through the courtyard to the garden. He’s beating rugs with a stick to rid them of dust, sneezing a few times in the most adorable way. Again, he doesn’t seem to notice Kuroo passing.

Later that night, Kuroo calls him to his room once more. Kozume arrives in short order, standing by the door with a skeptical look.

“You aren’t going to fall apart on me again, are you?” he asks.

Kuroo grins sheepishly. “I’ll try my best not to,” he says, before holding a book out to him. “Do you read? I thought you might like this. It’s fiction, and the protagonist is snarky and mean, like you.”

Kozume balks at that, shying away from the proffered book with a wrinkle of his nose. “I’m not _mean_,” he says, though it sounds almost like a question.

“No, not mean,” Kuroo allows. “But definitely rude. The protagonist isn’t a bad guy, though. He’s really smart and clever and gets out of really tough situations using more brain power than anything else. He’s probably my favorite protagonist in anything I’ve read before.” He nudges Kozume’s arm with the book until he takes it.

“When will I even have time to read?” he mutters, even as he opens it and flips through the pages absently.

“You guys get breaks, don’t you?” Kuroo asks in surprise.

Kozume shakes his head. “Not usually. If I’m caught slacking off, I get a whipping.”

Kuroo’s eyes widen. “_What_?”

“Not with an actual whip. It’s more like getting smacked with a broom. It’s not pleasant, but it’s not like . . . debilitating or whatever.”

“Still, that’s not right. Even servants should get at least an hour break,” Kuroo says with a frown. “I’ll talk to Morisuke and Nobuyuki about it.”

And he does. He manages to get them to agree to an hour break every day for the servants, with a half-day off on the first day of the week. Kuroo, Morisuke, and Nobuyuki can go without a prepared meal those mornings. They’re not helpless. He knows some visiting relatives and nobles may not like it, but they can learn to make their own tea and hot cakes if they’re so pressed to have them.

Kozume looks surprised when Kuroo tells him the second night, which he finds rather insulting.

“I told you I’d do something about it!”

“Yeah, but most kings and nobles promise one thing and do another or don’t do it at all.”

Kuroo huffs. “Well, I’m not going to be that kind of king. I keep my promises,” he insists.

Kozume regards him quietly from behind his hair. He still hasn’t allowed Kuroo to see his full face, but Kuroo doesn’t push. The last thing he wants to do is make Kozume uncomfortable around him.

“How’s your family?” he asks hesitantly after Kozume doesn’t reply.

Again, this seems to catch the servant off-guard. “Um, fine. My mom was sick, before . . . but with the money I get from here they were able to see a doctor so . . . she’s doing better.”

“Oh. I had no idea,” Kuroo says, blinking. “I mean, I knew you were sending money home but . . . I could’ve had my doctor take a look at her.”

“Why?”

Kuroo doesn’t have a good answer for that. As soon as he says it, he realizes how absurd an offer that is. The royal family doctor going down to the poorest part of the city to visit a servant’s mother? Nobody’s done anything like that before; he has no idea how it’d be received. Besides, he can’t be caught showing favoritism. People might grow suspicious of his intentions toward Kozume if he’s caught doing something so bold.

Still, he asks Nobuyuki to send a basket of fresh fruit to the Kozume household, anonymously. Morisuke would ask too many questions, but Kuroo feels he can trust Nobuyuki to take care of such a request with discretion.

By the third day, though, Lev and Taketora have started to notice Kuroo’s interest in Kozume.

“This is the third time you’ve called for him, Kuroo-sama,” Lev says, after Taketora’s gone to fetch the servant (with some grumbling about how a rude servant shouldn’t get the privilege of a private audience with the king). “Are you having a secret tryst?” His bright green eyes go wide with excitement.

Kuroo feels his face grow hot, and he sputters a moment before replying. “Hah?! What? No, of course not!”

Lev hums, the gleam still in his eye. “I bet Kozume-san is really cute. He seems like he’s cute, even though you can’t see his face behind his hair. He’s just so little. Not as little as Yaku-san, but pretty small. Do you like small people, Kuroo-sama?”

“I’m going to wait inside,” Kuroo says, sliding the door shut in his face.

When Kozume arrives, Kuroo’s pacing the room, trying not to think too much about Lev’s words. He doesn’t remember Kozume being that short, but as soon as he sees Kozume, his mind instantly jumps into the gutter, as he notices that, while he could probably fit just beneath Kuroo’s chin, he’s small in other ways. Small hands with slender fingers, the barest hint of a small mouth he sees sometimes behind the hair, the no-doubt small, tight ass beneath his yukata . . .

“Are you all right?”

Kuroo shakes himself out of the terrible (wonderful) place his mind just went. He really hopes he’s not as red as he feels he is, all of his blood rushing between his head and crotch. It makes him somewhat light-headed.

“What? Oh, yeah, I’m fine,” he says, shaking his head. He steps over to his desk where he arranged a stack of books earlier. Picking them up, he walks over to where Kozume stands, depositing the stack in his arms. “Here’s some more book recommendations. You might not like all of them, there are a couple poetry compilations that may be too sentimental for you, but I think they’re really poignant and relevant and . . . I don’t know, kind of like a peek into me as a person? That probably sounds stupid. You don’t have to read them.”

He takes a step back, rubbing the back of his neck. The stack is so tall, Kozume has to tuck his chin against the top one to hold all the books steady against his chest. His eyes flicker up to settle on Kuroo’s face, and Kuroo’s knows there’s no way his face _isn’t_ red right now.

“This is a lot,” Kenma states the obvious.

“Right, yeah, sorry.” Kuroo moves forward, ready to take some away, but Kozume steps back out of reach. Kuroo can’t help but smile, as he lowers his arms. “Take all the time you need with them. I can always find more copies.”

Kozume lowers his gaze, a slight furrow evident between the thick strands of hair that obscure his face. “Why are you doing this?”

Kuroo blinks. “Uh, what do you mean?” he asks nervously.

Kozume huffs softly. “This. Watching me when I work. Calling me to your room every night. Giving me things. I know about the fruit basket too. It’s creepy.”

The words hit Kuroo’s chest like an arrow shot from three feet away. He nearly staggers at the impact. “Sorry! Sorry, that’s not . . . I’m not trying to . . . I can stop if you—”

“I just don’t know what you want from me.” He lifts his gaze, tossing his hair back in order to face Kuroo fully.

Kuroo inhales sharply, breath catching in his throat. Kozume frowns at him, the full expression now visible. He _is_ cute. Lev was right. He’s probably the most adorable person Kuroo’s ever seen in his life. But it’s not just that. With both golden eyes fixated on him, he feels somewhat like he’s been caught in the gaze of a predatory cat, watching him, studying him, searching for any sign of weakness to pounce upon. It sends a shiver down his spine, one that isn’t altogether unpleasant.

There’s probably something wrong about that, but Kuroo doesn’t care. He wants to have that gaze on him always. He wants this avid attention from Kozume, this interest, even if it’s just Kozume trying to figure out his angle.

His mouth is small, lips pulled into a slight pout. His features are angular but delicate, almost fae-like, his skin smooth, pale against the darkness of his hair.

He’s absolutely stunning, and Kuroo’s pretty sure he could stare at him all day.

But Kozume’s waiting for an answer, an explanation, and “I want to keep looking at you, and for you to look back at me” probably isn’t going to cut it. In fact, it’ll probably just seem even creepier.

“I don’t . . . I’m not expecting anything,” Kuroo admits, reminding himself of who he is, who Kozume is. A king may be allowed interest in a servant, he may even be allowed to take a servant to bed, but a relationship . . . when he might be engaged soon . . . when he needs to produce an heir . . .

“Forgive me if I’ve overstepped,” Kuroo says, bowing slightly with a sigh. “I don’t mean to be creepy. I just . . . I like you.” He gestures helplessly to the side. “You treated me like any other person when I ran into you three days ago, and you still do. It’s refreshing. Everyone’s either bowing and scraping and piling on compliments, or they’re talking kingly duties and responsibilities. With you, I don’t have to worry about any of that. I don’t have to pretend I’m confident when I’m not, or pretend like I know what I’m doing when I don’t. For some reason, I feel safe with you. So I like having you around. I can stop sending for you if it’s an inconvenience, though.”

Kozume’s expression hasn’t changed the entire time. Kuroo’s heart stutters, tripping over itself in its new haste. He can’t tell if that’s a bad sign or not. Did he go too far, even with that? It’s honest, but it may be too pathetic.

“I don’t mind it, then,” Kozume says finally, surprising him. He shifts his gaze away, lowering his head so that it’s concealed once more. Kuroo mourns the loss. “You’re not terrible to spend time with, either.”

Kuroo barks a laugh, too nervous and incredulous to hold it back. “Wow, thanks,” he says. It comes out sounding sarcastic, but he means it.

Kozume adjusts his grip on his books, turning toward the door. “I’ll see you later, I guess.”

“Wait,” Kuroo says quickly, stepping forward to grab half of the books. “Let me help you carry them back to your room.”

Kozume blinks, glancing from the books in his arms to his face and then away. Kuroo wonders if that’s a blush rising on his cheeks. He doesn’t say a word, though, simply steps up to the door and slides it open. Lev straightens when he sees them.

“Kuroo-sama?”

“I’m helping Kozume-san take these books back to his room. I won’t be gone long.”

Taketora leaps from the darkness with a frown, pointing his finger. “I won’t let you go out and about alone! I will go with you!”

Kuroo bites the inside of his cheek. “That’s really not necessary. I’ll be fine. I’m not even leaving the palace gates.”

Taketora narrows his eyes. “You never know what dangers might be lurking around any corner!” As if to make his point, he glares from side to side, searching.

“Kozume will protect me if anything happens,” Kuroo says, nudging Kozume’s arm with his.

“No, I won’t,” comes the reflexive response, as Kozume shies away from his touch. He doesn’t go far, though, and his reply lacks conviction, so Kuroo’s pretty sure he won’t let anything bad happen to them. About ninety percent sure.

“Besides, it’s not like I’m helpless myself. I’ve trained for battle, you know,” Kuroo points out.

Taketora breathes hard through his nose, as he considers this. Finally, he straightens and crosses his arms over his chest. “Fine! But if morning comes and Kuroo-sama isn’t at breakfast, I’m coming for you, Sadako!” He points his finger at Kozume.

Kozume jolts at the nickname, glancing sidelong at Taketora warily. “Who?”

“She’s a ghost from an old folk tale,” Kuroo explains. “Supposed to be really scary.”

“Yeah! With her dark hair hanging all down her face like yours,” Taketora says, still pointing. “With those eyes of yours, it really makes you stand out!”

Kozume seems extremely perturbed by this, his nose wrinkling, lips turned down, brows furrowed. Kuroo reaches over to force Taketora’s arm down.

“That’s enough,” he says, shaking his head. “You two can take the night off. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Yes, sir, heika, sir!” Lev exclaims, wasting no time in bowing and running off.

Taketora looks more reluctant to leave, but he does, after sending another warning glare in Kozume’s direction.

“Sorry about them,” Kuroo says, as he begins walking. “They’re good at their job, just extra enthusiastic about it. My dad appointed them before he died. Lev is a little young, younger than both of us, actually, but he has a lot of stamina because of it. Taketora’s just . . . like that.” He grins, unable to help but do so fondly, as he speaks about his bodyguards. They’ve managed to make themselves a home in his heart these past eighteen months, as annoying as they can be sometimes.

Kozume doesn’t reply. Kuroo can’t help but wonder what kind of people Kozume hangs out with.

“Do you have any friends among the servants?”

Kozume hesitates before shrugging. “There’s Shouhei. He’s quiet and sleeps in the room next to mine.” He pauses, tilting his head to the side. “I guess . . . Sou and Yuuki, too.”

Kuroo blinks. “Who?” He feels ashamed. He doesn’t recognize any of those names. Should he?

Kozume gives him a look that says he very much should. “Fukunaga Shouhei. He works in the kitchen with me. Inuoka Sou guards the front gate of the palace, and Shibayama Yuuki works in the garden you like so much.”

“I see,” Kuroo says, trying to picture their faces in his mind and failing. Damn. He really needs to pay better attention to his staff overall. “They’re your friends then?”

“They’re not terrible. They were nice to me, when I first got here. We don’t really spend much time together outside of work but . . . I’d consider them friends.”

Kuroo nods, glad Kozume isn’t alone all the time. With how reserved and content he is to remain in the shadows, Kuroo feared Kozume wouldn’t have any ties to this place aside from Kuroo. If Kuroo has to stop seeing Kozume after he gets married, he feels somewhat better knowing Kozume has other people to stay in the palace for. Perhaps it’s selfish, but he wants to be able to still see Kozume, even if he can’t have him.

“This is me.”

Kuroo pulls himself out of his thoughts, blinking at the plain rice paper of the door in front of him. There are no illustrations, no bright colors, just a dull gray against dark wood. Kozume slides the door open, stepping inside and going over to the single table and chair in the center of the room. He sets the books down, reaching for a lantern to light it. Kuroo tries his best not to wince, as he looks around the tiny room.

It doesn’t seem to be much larger than Kuroo’s _bed_. There’s a futon shoved into the far corner, and aside from this table and chair there’s a single, thin wardrobe and a small window in the far wall. Everything is within a few feet of each other. Kozume can turn from the table to immediately sit down on his futon, which he does, kicking off his zōri to massage his feet.

Kuroo sees the first book he lent Kozume laying face-down on the pillow. He can’t help but smile at the sight of it, despite his dismay at how tiny the room is. It’s clean, at least, and he steps in to place the books on the table beside the others.

“Are all the servants’ quarters this small?” he asks, glancing around and realizing he’s never been to this side of the palace before. Glancing out of the doorway, he sees identical looking doors lining the corridor. Directly across from him is a small courtyard with a single overgrown tree in its center, a rickety bench standing beneath it. Other than that, it’s just a patch of dirt surrounded by the stone pathway, along which sit the doors of the servant quarters. He hears the sound of a door sliding open beside him. Turning, he finds himself staring into the eyes of a strange man with tiny eyebrows and dark eyes, peering out at him from between the crack between his door and the frame.

Kuroo lifts his hand in a wave, but the man just slowly closes the door without a sound. _Strange . . ._ He pulls his head back into Kozume’s room.

“I think I just saw your neighbor.”

“That’s Shouhei,” Kozume explains, still sitting where he was before, massaging his feet.

Kuroo has to resist the urge to step over and offer to do it for him. It seems like that’d be creepy; definitely creepier than the things he’s done so far. He clears his throat awkwardly.

“So, um, I guess I’ll leave you to it then . . .”

Kozume doesn’t respond, eyes on his feet. Shaking his head, Kuroo leaves, shutting the door behind him. He stands there for a moment, looking around at all the servants’ rooms surrounding the courtyard. How is it that he never ventured down here before? Did he really consider himself that far above these people that he never thought to visit them? See how they’re treated? Make sure they’re earning a livable wage?

Troubled by these thoughts, he makes his way back to his room, noticing how the corridors grow wider and the rice paper grows more colorful, with intricate designs painted on with varying degrees of complication. The air gets nicer too, as the scents from the wisteria trees and garden waft toward him.

Maybe he should look at getting some flowers planted in the servants’ courtyard. It’ll certainly brighten the place. He’ll add that to the list. Glad to have in mind some form of a plan to make life better for his servants, he goes to bed with a lighter heart.

Then morning comes, and along with it, a crow from Karasuno.

_“Kuroo, I hope you are well. I also believe such an alliance could benefit both kingdoms. I accept your terms. Select the wedding date, and Hitoka shall be there with the official agreement in writing. You know she is quite dear to me, so I trust you will treat her kindly. Sincerely, Sawamura Daichi, King of Karasuno.”_

Despite knowing this is will be good for Nekoma, for both kingdoms, Kuroo reads the message with a sinking feeling in his chest, and he wishes he’d asked to stay with Kozume in that tiny room, forgetting all about the world outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://shions-heart.tumblr.com/


	3. Enchantment Passing Through

  
[both] but why should i tell you this?  
[1] a stranger i just met (he probably will forget)  
[2] a [man] whom i hardly know at all and should forget

[both] a journey we can only dream of:  
enchantment passing through;  
and how is it i say these things  
so easily to you?

\-- elton john, _aida_, "enchantment passing through"

* * *

Morisuke proposes a wedding date two weeks from the day of the response. Kuroo knows that sooner is better, considering Nohebi’s continued presence at the border, but two weeks seems like not nearly enough time. He has no idea what exactly goes into planning a wedding, so he leaves the details up to Morisuke and Nobuyuki. He trusts them to take care of things, as he still has dozens of complaints from his nobles and middle class to deal with.

First, though, he wakes up early and goes to the kitchens, where Naoi is preparing breakfast for the servants. There are a great many of them gathered in the back room off to the side of the kitchen, and all conversation halts, as Kuroo makes his way inside. He gives them a smile and a small wave.

“Don’t mind me,” he says. “I just . . . thought I’d join you, if that’s all right.”

“You, the king, want to have breakfast with . . . _us_?” squeaks a small young man with dark hair flopping over his forehead, parted in the middle.

“I thought it’d be a good time to get to know you,” Kuroo admits, gesturing for Naoi to continue with the preparations. “I realize that although I’ve been king for a year now, I haven’t really taken the time to get to know my staff. Some of you have been around since before my father passed, and I’d like to hear some feedback, about how things were then, and how they are now . . . what I can do to improve things if there are any needs not being met.”

They all stare at him, incredulous. Kuroo rubs the back of his neck, wondering if it’s really such a strange thing.

“The gardening staff could use more yukata and kimono. They get worn out more quickly because they’re always having to clean the dirt stains.”

The soft voice by his elbow is familiar, but Kuroo nearly jumps out of skin when he hears it, because he didn’t notice Kozume approaching. When he sees him, he realizes why he didn’t notice. The servant’s hair is a golden-white color, blending with the tone of his skin. His golden eyes don’t stand out nearly as much either, and with his white uniform, his features are barely distinguishable.

“Kozume! Your hair?” Kuroo gapes.

Kozume reaches for a strand self-consciously. “Oh. I changed it.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” He can’t stop staring. It doesn’t look _bad_. It’s different, and Kozume’s not as striking as he was before. Is that the point? Did he really take Taketora’s teasing that much to heart?

Kozume turns his face away, nodding toward the short young man with the parted hair. “That’s Shibayama Yuuki. He works in the gardens. He can give you the gardeners’ sizes for the yukata and kimono.”

“Oh, uh, yeah, sure,” Kuroo says, pulling himself back to his original purpose for coming down here.

Naoi brings out a giant steaming bowl of rice and eggs, setting it in the center of the table. He ladles some into each bowl held out toward him, hesitating briefly before giving Kuroo the same. It’s plain, not at all like the varied and savory breakfasts Kuroo’s used to, but it’s filling, and he gives his thanks like always.

Kozume sits down next to him to eat, which seems to give the others the courage to start speaking again, giving their honest opinions of life in the palace. Most are content, it seems, as Kuroo’s father was tough but fair in dealing with his staff. They thank him for the extra breaks, though, as that does make a difference in morale. The gardeners _do_ need extra clothing, and while everyone would like a raise, they understand it may be low on the priority list, considering they get to live and eat in the palace for free. Kuroo explains that things are somewhat tight right now, considering the nobles are contesting their land tax and the middle class are running out of jobs to pay _their_ taxes due to overpopulation. He’d like to do something about improving the poorer side of the city, as well, though he’s not entirely sure what.

He hopes that with the Karasuno-Nekoma merger following the wedding, he’ll be able to relocate some of the middle class to Karasuno to work and live, as their country extends farther east, and Nekoma is squashed between Karasuno and Nohebi, and Shiratorizawa to the north, with the ocean to the south. That’s why it’s so important that he keep Nohebi back from their borders. They can’t afford to lose any more land.

“The fact that you’re even down here talking to us means a lot,” Shibayama admits. “No king has ever done this.”

“I want to be a good king,” Kuroo admits. “And that means listening to the concerns of my people and doing what I can for them. I can’t do that stuck in my throne room all day.” He shakes his head.

Kozume doesn’t speak again the rest of his time there. Kuroo takes the time to learn the names of everyone present, making note that there are some evening and night staff that wake later in the day and so aren’t available. The guards also take their meals in the garrison by the front gates of the palace, so he goes there next to introduce himself properly to all those men and women who protect him and have protected him and his family for generations. They seem touched by his efforts, which is gratifying.

Morisuke isn’t as pleased with him, however.

“You can’t make everyone happy all the time, Tetsurou,” he says when he finds out about the visits. “If you try, you’re just going to burn yourself out along with our money and resources.”

Kuroo gestures helplessly to the side. “I know that. But if I at least show I’m making an effort, that has to mean something, right?”

He looks to Nobuyuki, who gives him a serene smile.

“I think it’s admirable,” he admits. “Just remember you are only one man.”

“I’ll be fine,” Kuroo insists. He’s grateful for his friends’ worry, but he can handle this.

Besides, it’s keeping his mind off his upcoming wedding, which is a bonus. When the day is over, he finds it difficult to sleep, no more distractions keeping his worries concerning his wife-to-be at bay. He gets up in the middle of the night and makes his way down to the gardeners’ shack, which Shibayama showed him earlier. His nighttime guard, a young man with pale hair named Teshiro Tamahiko, follows along nervously, despite Kuroo’s insistence that he’ll be fine. He finds a couple small shovels and two packets of seeds and makes his way down to the courtyard in the servants’ quarters.

He takes a moment to survey the area, trying to pinpoint the best place to plant the seeds that will enhance the look of the courtyard and not crowd it. Once he has the mental picture in his head, he kneels in the dirt to begin planting. Tamahiko lingers at the edge of the courtyard, watching quizzically but not speaking.

The night air is cool, but he pulled on his jinbei top before he left his room, so he’s comfortable enough. The dark sky above is littered with stars, and as he works by the light of the full moon, he hums softly under his breath.

Soft footfalls approach after a few minutes, and Kuroo thinks it’s Tamahiko until Kozume crouches down beside him, head tilted to the side.

“What are you doing?”

Kuroo gestures to the small mounds he’s already made. “I thought I’d bring some color to your courtyard.” He shows Kozume the bags of seeds, labeled with the names of the flowers.

“In the middle of the night?”

Kuroo shrugs. “It’s as good a time as any. Besides, I couldn’t sleep.” He pauses, glancing up at Kozume. “Do you want to help?” He holds out one of the bags. Kozume takes it slowly. “I’m doing an alternating pattern. Camellias and then Azaleas. I have no idea what colors they are, so it might clash horribly but . . . here’s hoping they look good.”

Kozume shifts in his crouch to pick up the second shovel, using it to create a hole beside the one Kuroo’s making. Kuroo resumes his humming after a moment, until he notices Kozume watching him. He stops, smiling self-consciously.

“Sorry. It’s an old song my mom used to sing to me when I was a kid. She died soon after my sixth birthday, so it’s one of the only things I remember about her. It helps me calm down when I’m stressed, usually.”

“Why are you stressed?” Kozume’s voice is soft and even, though his eyes fall back to his task.

“You mean besides the fact that everything seems to be going to shit right now?” Kuroo smiles wryly.

Kozume doesn’t reply. Kuroo sighs, turning his gaze back to his own hands, as he shifts down the line he’s making around the edge of the courtyard.

“It’s mostly about the wedding, to be honest. I have two weeks to figure out how the hell I’m supposed to keep a woman happy when I can barely manage it for myself.”

“You feel pressure to make her happy?”

“Of course. I don’t want her to be miserable here,” Kuroo says, though he’s starting to think it may be inevitable. “I don’t know anything about her interests . . . what if she doesn’t like any of our traditions? What if we don’t have things to facilitate her hobbies? I _know_ I won’t be satisfying in bed. What if she hates our food? We eat a lot of fish here. What if she hates fish?!”

Kozume snorts softly. “Karasuno borders the sea too,” he points out.

“I know, but they trade more in grain and produce since they have the land for it. She might prefer strawberries or something.” Kuroo freezes, his eyes wide. “Should I have strawberries at the wedding? Where the hell am I going to get strawberries? Are they even in season?!”

Kozume reaches up, clapping his hands on either side of Kuroo’s face. “Hey,” he says flatly. “Stop panicking. If you’re that worried about it, you can just ask her. Send a letter.”

Kuroo blinks, staring back at Kozume, still unused to the new hair but finding his gaze just as intense as before. A shiver runs down his spine. Tamahiko steps forward, hand on his katana. Kuroo waves him back with barely a glance. He nods as best he can with his head caught between Kozume’s warm hands.

“Right. You’re right. That’s a good idea. Thanks. Sorry.”

Kozume lowers his hands, turning back to the dirt. “You apologize too much. A king shouldn’t apologize over stupid things.”

Kuroo chuckles. “Yeah, probably,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck.

He returns to his task, breathing somewhat easier. He’s not sure why Kozume seems to be able to keep him calm so well. There’s just something about his presence that makes him feel more at ease. He smirks faintly.

“I wish I could have you in the throne room with me to keep me from freaking out during my meetings,” he admits.

Kozume shakes his head. “Yaku wouldn’t stand for a servant sitting beside the king.”

“Probably not,” Kuroo admits, able to see Morisuke’s face growing red at the suggestion even now. “Still, you’re really good at talking me down from stuff. I feel more comfortable with you than anyone else. I’m not sure why, but it’s nice. Thanks.”

Kozume’s shoulders lift toward his ears. “You don’t have to thank me for that,” he mumbles, hiding behind his hair.

Kuroo’s fingers itch to reach out and tuck it behind his ear so he can at least see his profile, but he doesn’t. Instead, he turns back to the seeds and the dirt, checking their progress so far. With the spacing and extra help, they’re already halfway done. He marked where he wants to put a stone path leading up to the bench, so the flowers will have to stop on either side of it. Once the stones are in place, he’ll see about getting some more seeds to plant along either side of the path, and then maybe some grass and other shrubbery to fill in the space in the middle. It’ll look really nice when it’s all done, he thinks.

The moon is high in the sky by the time they’re done. Kuroo straightens, rubbing the kinks out of his neck and shoulders, stretching his arms above his head to get rid of the stiffness as best he can. Kozume stretches beside him before handing back the bag of seeds.

“Thanks for the help,” Kuroo says with a smile. “How did you even know I was out here?”

“You’re not as stealthy as you think you are,” Kozume says, head turned to the side.

“Right,” Kuroo laughs. “Well, I’m sorry if I woke you.”

Kozume shakes his head, glancing back at him. “You didn’t. I was reading.”

“Oh, yeah? How are you liking the books so far? Which one are you on?”

“One of the poetry ones. You’re right. They’re really sentimental.” Kozume scuffs one toe into the dirt absently.

“But good, right? I mean, the emotion and imagery expressed is really beautiful. I mean, it spoke to me, at least.” Kuroo’s cheeks warm, and he runs a hand through his hair. “Ah, it’s all right if it isn’t the same for you, though. You don’t even have to finish it if you don’t like it.”

Kozume shrugs. “It’s fine,” he says.

He turns to head back toward his room, then, and Kuroo watches him go, his chest aching.

He tells Shibayama not to worry about the flowers he planted in the courtyard, wanting to take care of them himself. While Morisuke and Nobuyuki order flower arrangements and commission the royal seamstress to make a special kimono for Kuroo’s wedding day, he spends his time with Kozume in the courtyard.

They lay down the stone for the path, and when Kuroo realizes the bench is old, its wood rotting, he figures out how to take it apart and rebuild it using materials from a local carpenter. Kozume helps without a word, simply joining him after a few minutes have passed, obeying his various instructions and correcting Kuroo’s mistakes. Most of the time they work in companionable silence, or they’ll talk about the books Kozume’s reading.

Taketora and Lev are present during the daytime, and while they don’t understand why Kuroo’s spending his time fixing up the courtyard of the servants’ quarters, they assist without complaint when Kuroo finds he needs an extra pair of hands. Lev enjoys pestering Kozume with questions he barely answers, and Taketora seems less hostile. In fact, Kuroo catches him blushing when Kozume hands him a nail and their fingers touch.

He’d find it amusing, but his heart twists painfully instead, especially when he has to remind himself that he’s getting married soon, and Kozume isn’t his.

Some selfish, dark part of Kuroo whispers that Kozume _can_ be his. When he’s lying in bed thinking about the events of the day, the interactions they shared, that part of him sends the reminder that he’s the king. If he wants, he can order Kozume to lay in his bed, strip for him, kiss him, touch him. He can order Kozume to do all sorts of things, and the servant will have to do them.

He tries to banish these thoughts as best he can. The guilt he knows he would feel afterwards outweighs the desire to follow through with any of that. He doesn’t want to hurt Kozume or make him do things he might not want to do.

He wishes he knew what Kozume truly thinks of him, if he’d be willing to do any of those things on his own. If he requests Kozume’s presence in his bed, would he refuse? Or would he go willingly, eagerly, desiring Kuroo as much as he does Kozume?

It’s not something he feels he can ask. Not with his wedding so close. What will come of it? One night, maybe two, a week of passion and then . . . ? He can’t bring Kozume into his marriage bed. It wouldn’t be fair to Kozume or to the princess.

It may not be an empty encounter, but it would lead to nothing, and knowing what pain would follow settles the matter in Kuroo’s mind.

He won’t encourage whatever feelings he can sense growing inside of him.

Still, he can’t bring himself to stay away completely.

A week passes. The servants’ courtyard already looks reformed, with a new bench, the stone path, the new grass sod already budding through what once was just dirt. The fertilizer they use gives the area a nasty smell for a while, but Kuroo assures everyone that it’ll be worth it.

The tree that stands in the center needs pruning, and that’s a daunting task that takes a while. One has to stand on a ladder to reach the branches, with two holding on to make sure they don’t fall. It’s precarious and although Taketora and Lev both insist they can make the climb, Kuroo stubbornly refuses the help, climbing himself to trim the overgrown branches as best he can.

Kozume watches from beneath, face exposed as the hair falls back. Kuroo tries not to get distracted by this, especially after the first time when he almost falls and nearly gives Taketora a heart attack.

Morisuke tries to update Kuroo on the progress of the wedding preparations, but Kuroo brushes him off each time. He doesn’t want to remember what’s coming in only a few days’ time. Already there are servants preparing the guest quarters for the princess and her handmaidens when they first arrive. After the wedding, the princess will be joining Kuroo in his room, which he tries not to think about either.

With Kozume, it’s easy to forget about the wedding. Kuroo lets himself get lost in his time with him, in his eyes, his smile, the sound of his laugh, the rare times Kuroo’s heard it. He tries to stifle it, but sometimes, like when Lev face-plants in the dirt after falling from the ladder, Kozume can’t help but laugh aloud, and the sound fills Kuroo’s heart with joy.

_Fuck. I think I’m falling in love with him._

It’s that feeling he’s been chasing for so long, right there in front of him. He’s experiencing it in real time, but the knowledge only brings despair with it. He might be in love, but that doesn’t change his circumstances. That doesn’t change the fact that soon he’ll be married and unable to act on these feelings.

It’s awful but at the same time, he lets himself feel it. The ache, the bitter sweetness. He watches Kozume and allows the fondness and affection to curl around his heart, knowing how much it’ll hurt later.

Kozume catches his eye a few times, and Kuroo tries to hide it. What will Kozume think of it? His king, falling for a servant a week from his wedding day. It’s scandalous. Not at all noble or right or good.

“Tell me about your family,” Kuroo asks one night as they walk around the outside of the courtyard, watering the flowers. “I know your mom was sick, but how is she now? Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

It’s been a mere two weeks since he first ran into Kozume, and he realizes he doesn’t know that much about the young man. It’s probably ridiculous to have such strong feelings for someone he barely knows, but they’ve been spending nearly every day together since that initial meeting, and that’s enough for feelings to grow, probably. Or maybe Kuroo’s even more messed up than he originally thought.

Kozume hums softly in thought. “No siblings,” he admits, shaking his head. “Mother’s a lot better now, too. She’s back at work with my father. They make kimono and yukata. Business isn’t great right now, though. People tend to prioritize food over clothes, these days.”

Kuroo nods slowly. That makes sense, but he doesn’t like it. “Morisuke mentioned he hired you last year. Did you work with them before that?”

Kozume nods. “I make more money here, though.”

Kuroo chews on his lip for a moment. “Do you . . . need a raise? I can talk to Morisuke and Nobuyuki about it. I mean, if it’s just one person it might not be that big of a deal . . .”

Kozume gives him a sharp side-eye. “I won’t take it if it’s just for me. I’m not the only one here sending money back to a poor family.” He gestures at the servant quarters surrounding them.

Kuroo’s neck and ears feel hot. “Right, no, of course not,” he says quickly, realizing he’s playing favorites. He sighs. “I wish I could just . . . wave my hand and make life easier for everyone. So many of my people are hurting, and what am I doing?” He looks down at the bucket in his hand. “Watering plants.”

Kozume purses his lips. He’s been keeping his head up more around Kuroo, not hiding behind his hair as much. It’s nice to be able to see more of his face, though most of his expressions are still a mystery.

“You’re marrying the princess of Karasuno to help your people. Sacrificing your happiness to make life easier for them. That’s not nothing.”

Kuroo grimaces, knowing it’s the truth but hating to be reminded of it. “It still feels like such a little thing, though,” he admits. “Like, what is it _really_ costing me? The chance at having a male lover? Plenty of people don’t get that.”

Kozume huffs, and he sounds frustrated when he replies, “don’t do that. Don’t write off your happiness like it doesn’t mean anything.”

“But it doesn’t. I mean, it shouldn’t. Is a happy king a good king? Should a king be happy if his subjects are suffering?”

Kozume frowns. “You’re talking in such absolutes. Why do you have to be unhappy to make life better for others? Why can’t you be happy _and_ make life better for others?”

“Because it can’t work like that, not in this circumstance. This marriage will make me unhappy, but it’s what’s best for my people. I don’t mind being unhappy if it stops my people’s suffering.”

Kozume mutters something under his breath before lifting his chin, jaw tight. “I still think you should talk to the princess, see if you can’t find some way to still be happy.”

“I will,” Kuroo assures him, though he still has no idea what to say. Anything he comes up with will just bring humiliation onto the princess, and he can’t do that to her.

They finish watering the flowers and sod, and Kuroo takes the extra bucket from Kozume, handing them off to Lev to take them back to the gardeners’ shed. He walks with Kozume back to his room, lingering outside as Kozume grabs a couple books he’s finished and hands them back.

“You don’t want to keep them?” Kuroo asks in surprise. “I thought you said you liked them.”

“I did,” Kozume turns his face away, “but I don’t really have any room for them.”

“Oh. Right.” He forgot Kozume doesn’t have a bookshelf. “Well, feel free to come by any time to borrow them again if you want to reread.”

Kozume nods, moving to shut the door. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Kozume.”

Kozume pauses, just before the door hits the frame. “You can call me Kenma,” he says, barely above a whisper, before closing the door firmly.

Kuroo can’t help the grin that spreads wide across his face. “Goodnight, Kenma,” he says to the rice paper, watching as the warmly lit interior goes dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://shions-heart.tumblr.com/


	4. Is This How the Gods Reward the Faithful?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning: drunkenness, requested nudity (with full consent), and a very brief allusion to the topic of rape

all i have to do is to pretend i never knew him  
on those very rare occasions when he steals into my heart.  
better to have lost him when the ties were barely binding;  
better the contempt of the familiar cannot start.  
it's easy, it's easy.

until i think about him as he was when i last touched him,  
and how he would have been, were i to be with him today.  
those very rare occasions don't let up, they keep on coming.  
all I've ever wanted, and I'm throwing it away.  
it's easy, it's easy as life. 

\-- elton john, _aida_, "easy as life"

* * *

It’s the day before Princess Hitoka is set to arrive, and Kuroo feels ill. The wedding is set for the day after, giving the princess and her handmaidens time to prepare without feeling rushed after their journey from Karasuno. Although it’s only a day and a half travel by horse and carriage, with the weather getting warmer, Morisuke, Nobuyuki, and Kuroo all agreed that it’d be best to give them that extra day to decompress.

Kuroo has never met the princess before, not officially. He’s seen her briefly here and there during the times he and Sawamura Daichi met up back before he was king, when they were both children and then teens in school, visiting each other’s countries’ summer festivals. He and Sawamura got along well enough, a friendly rivalry growing whenever they competed against each other in the booth games. Kuroo knows Sawamura became a good king, strong and trustworthy. He has maintained the good relationship Nekoma and Karasuno have had for generations, and this agreement for marriage between his younger half-sister and Kuroo is proof of how far he’s willing to go. He doesn’t doubt Hitoka will have the same principles.

Kuroo’s grateful for this, but it doesn’t calm his nerves. If anything, it makes him that much more anxious. To hurt Hitoka, in any way, is to hurt the relationship between Karasuno and Nekoma. If he fucks up, he could ruin more than just a marriage. He could send them into war.

He spends most of the day drinking.

Is he proud of it? No. But once the queasiness hit his stomach, he had to do something for fear of chickening out. He grabs as many wine bottles as he can from the kitchen and sequesters himself in his room.

Lev, Taketora, Morisuke, Nobuyuki, and even Naoi and Shibayama come to his door, asking after his health. Kuroo sends them all away with assurances that he’s fine, he just needs some time alone. He drinks and worries and drinks and tries to read and drinks some more when that fails to distract him.

He’s quite drunk by the time Kenma shows up. Sprawled out on his bed in only his jinbei pants, he struggles to sit up when he hears his door open, already repeating his request to be left alone. He trails off when he notices it’s Kenma, and he blinks a few times, wondering if he’s hallucinating.

“What’re you doin’ ‘ere?” he asks, trying to sound coherent, though he can tell he’s slurring horribly.

“Everyone’s worried about you,” Kenma says, watching him from across the room, hands tucked into the sleeves of his white yukuta. He glances around the room, wrinkling his nose as his gaze lands on every bottle Kuroo’s consumed. “Have you been drinking this whole time?”

“Mmmno. I sharted around mmmm lunchtime.” Kuroo snickers to himself. “Sharted. That sounds like sharted.”

Kenma narrows his eyes at him. He shakes his head, moving to start picking up the various bottles. Kuroo waves at him, trying to get his attention.

“Hey, hey, you don’t haveta do that. I got shervants to do that.”

“I am a servant.”

“Mmm, not to me. You’re just Kenma to me.” Kuroo slides off the edge of the bed to sit on the floor with his back against it, taking another swig of the bottle in his hand. “Kenma. Keeeeeenmaaaaa. Your name’s really nice. Hey, hey, did you know? Did you know your name’s really nice?”

Kenma eyes the bottle in his hand. Setting the ones he’s holding down beside the door, he walks over to try and take it from him. Kuroo resists, pulling it away. Kenma reaches over him with an annoyed tsk, and Kuroo takes the opportunity to wrap his arm around Kenma’s waist and pull him into his lap. He falls with a surprised “oof,” eyes wide. Kuroo nuzzles his hair some, breathing in the sharp, lingering scent of whatever chemical he used to make his hair light. It’s already starting to grow out some, after two weeks, dark roots showing.

“What are you doing?” Kenma asks, pushing against his chest.

Kuroo maintains his hold, closing his eyes, as he keeps his nose buried in Kenma’s hair and murmurs something, he’s not entirely sure what. Maybe he’s just making noise.

“Let me go.”

“Mmm, no. I wanna hold you. I’ve been wan’ing to hold you for a long . . . long time,” Kuroo admits, lifting his knees to try and trap Kenma between them and his chest. His body is warm against his, and he _is_ small, just as Lev predicted. Maybe he does like small people after all.

“I said, let me go,” Kenma says again, his voice taking on a hardened edge.

Kuroo pouts. “Why? Isn’t this nice? This is nice. I like holding you. Let me hold you. I won’t be able to after tomorrow.”

Kenma stops struggling. “Is that what this is about? Your wedding?”

Kuroo makes a face. “I don’t wanna get married. I’m gonna to fuck it up. I know I will. Because I can’t love her. I can’t love her, Kenma. I’m already in love with someone else.”

Kenma inhales sharply but doesn’t respond. Kuroo takes another swig of the wine in his hand, setting it against the floor then with a sigh.

“I won’t be able to be happy, no matter what I do, because she won’t be you.”

“Heika . . .” Kenma mutters softly.

Kuroo recoils at the title, shaking his head. “No. Don’t call me that. Call me Kuroo. Or . . . Tetsurou.”

Kenma’s chewing on his lip, and Kuroo can’t read his expression. He usually can’t but it’s particularly difficult to decipher while drunk. Since Kenma’s no longer trying to get away, he reaches up with the hand he has around Kenma’s waist, brushing his hair back from his face gently. Leaning down, he presses a kiss to the side of it, just below Kenma’s temple.

Kenma pulls away. He stands, using Kuroo’s slow reflexes against him. He snatches the half-empty bottle from Kuroo’s slackened grip, and Kuroo makes a half-hearted attempt to take it back. Kenma easily smacks his hand away, walking over to the where he set the other bottles, placing it beside them. Kuroo watches, unashamedly admiring Kenma’s ass when he bends over.

“Hey,” he says suddenly, a brilliant idea coming to him. “Can you do something for me?”

Kenma straightens, looking back over at him skeptically. “What?”

“Can you . . . would you mind . . . I’d just . . . I’d like to see you, if I can, just once. Just so I can have it in my mind later.” Kuroo gestures vaguely toward Kenma.

Kenma frowns. “_What_?” he asks, seeming more confused than anything.

Kuroo’s face feels much too hot all of a sudden. “Um, um. I mean, it’s not an order or anything. You don’t have to. I won’t even touch you.” He holds both his hands up. “I just . . . I’ve been thinking about you, and I know it’s wrong, and probably not very kingly, but . . . I’d like to know . . . what you look like . . . under . . .” He trails off into an embarrassed mumble, thinking maybe his idea isn’t so great after all.

“Are you asking me to _undress_ for you?” Kenma asks flatly.

“Are you mad? You sound mad. I’m sorry. I just . . . ugh.” Kuroo drops his face into his hands, feeling worse than before. “It’s not an order. But I get it if it makes you uncomfortable. I just . . . thought it might help. If I could think of you. Before . . . consummation . . .” He can barely get the word out, all the wine in his stomach surging upwards momentarily. He manages to keep it all down, but it’s a horrible sensation. He grimaces behind his hands.

It’s a selfish request, he knows. He shouldn’t have asked for it. How despicable can he be? He’s a terrible person, probably.

Somewhere across the room, he hears Kenma sigh. He expects to hear the door next, opening and then shutting, Kenma leaving him to wallow in his anxiety and self-hatred. But only silence follows. Then, a faint rustling. He doesn’t dare look up, keeping his face hidden, ears and neck on fire.

“Well?” Kenma asks, voice sharp as a knife’s edge. “Are you going to look or not?”

Kuroo lifts his head and slowly pulls his fingers away to peer through them. Kenma’s standing a few meters away, arms crossed tightly over his chest. His shoulders and neck are flushed pink, and his face is turned to the side. Kuroo swallows hard, lowering his hands just enough to look out over the tips of his fingers, staring.

Kenma stands in the center of his pile of clothing, every inch of him uncovered. His fair skin is unblemished, smooth. He’s slender, but not thin, his body showing evidence of his hard work around the palace. Kuroo already knows his hands are lightly calloused, and they grip his elbows now, fingers denting into the skin. His feet shuffle some against the floor, and the flush has spread across his chest. His dick appears average in size, but the fact that it’s _Kenma’s_ makes it so much more appealing.

Kuroo inhales sharply, drinking it all in. He wants to crawl forward and press his lips against every exposed part of him, run his hands along that smooth skin, explore every dip and curve. He wants to wrap his fingers, his mouth, around that cock, to taste him, watch him unravel from the pleasure Kuroo gives him.

His mouth feels dry, despite the multiple gulps of wine he’s had, and he swallows hard against the lump in his throat.

“You’re beautiful,” he says hoarsely.

Kenma’s head turns swiftly, as he scowls from behind his hair. His face colors the same pretty pink as his neck and shoulders, and Kuroo can’t help but smile because he looks cute like this, too. He didn’t know someone could be so alluring, beautiful, and cute all at the same time.

Uncrossing his arms, Kenma’s hands fall to his sides, balling into fists. Kuroo frowns when he notices this, pulling his gaze back up to Kenma’s face.

“Are you all right?” he asks hesitantly. He told Kenma he didn’t have to if it made him uncomfortable. He hopes he didn’t do it anyway just because Kuroo’s the king, and he feared what might happen if he refused.

“I just . . . don’t know what you want from me,” Kenma admits, lightly tapping his fist against the side of his thigh.

Kuroo blinks. “I already told you, weeks ago.”

“But it’s changed, hasn’t it?”

Kuroo can’t keep up with this conversation; the haze of the alcohol is too strong. All he wants to do right now is lie down on the floor and think about Kenma’s body as he passes out. He blinks again a few times, pushing back the fog as best he can.

“What I want doesn’t matter,” he says dully. “I can’t have you.”

“Can’t you? You’re the king.”

Kuroo frowns. “I’m not going to force myself on you,” he says with disgust. “I’m not going to order you to do anything with me. Do you really think I would?”

“No, that’s not what I meant,” Kenma says, shaking his head quickly. He’s still tense, standing there with his fists clenched, but his agitation doesn’t appear to be because of his nudity anymore. There’s something else bothering him. Not that Kuroo can figure out what right now.

“Kenma, I’m getting married the day after tomorrow,” he says helplessly. “Even if we did something tonight, consensually, it would be the only time. I don’t want to experience something I know I’ll crave again and again when I know I can’t have it. It’s better to never know what it’d feel like, than to feel it once and never again.” He sighs, dropping his head back against his bed. “That’d be torture,” he finishes softly.

Kenma steps over the pile of clothing surrounding his feet. He approaches Kuroo, crouching beside him. He’s close enough to touch, but Kuroo resists the urge, pressing his fingers firmly against the wood of the floor, even as his body _aches_.

“Isn’t _this_ torture?” Kenma asks softly.

Kuroo gives him a wry smile. “Yeah, but I’m used to this torture. I can manage it.”

Kenma purses his lips, shaking his head at him. Standing, he turns to walk back to his clothes. Kuroo allows himself to watch, studying the subtle curve of his back, his round ass that looks just as tight as he imagined it would. He sighs, looking away, as Kenma begins to dress.

“You deserve happiness, you know,” Kenma says, as he ties off his obi, glancing sidelong at him. “I don’t know how or why you’ve convinced yourself you don’t, but you do.”

Kuroo just closes his eyes, not wanting to have to see Kenma leave.

In the end, he passes out before he can be sure Kenma actually did.

When he wakes, someone’s placed him back in bed. He feels like crap, head pounding, and he turns over onto his side, dragging the covers up over his head. Daylight’s already seeping through his curtains, and he knows he has to get up and make himself presentable to greet Princess Hitoka, but he can’t get himself to move. All his limbs feel like they’re made of stone, pinning him to his bed. He remembers the previous night in bits and pieces, though the image of Kenma’s nude form has burned into his brain with perfect clarity. He still can’t believe Kenma actually did that.

“Kuroo-sama! Kuroo-sama, it’s time to get up!”

Lev’s loud voice clangs through his skull like a bell dropped down a flight of stairs, and Kuroo grimaces, burying his face in his pillow with a groan.

His covers disappear, thrown off by a pair of hands that then grab his shoulder, shaking him incessantly.

“Kuroo-sama! The Karasuno princess is supposed to be here any minute! You haven’t even bathed yet!”

“Argh, Lev, _stop_,” Kuroo growls, shoving the hands off of him, as he forces his eyes open and struggles to sit up.

Lev takes a step back, bowing deeply. “I’m really sorry, Kuroo-sama, but Yaku-san told me to wake you!”

Kuroo rubs his forehead, it still feeling like a dozen coal miners are swinging their pickaxes into every vulnerable spot of his brain. “What time is it?”

“It’s almost noon,” Lev announces, stepping over to the window to fling open the curtains. Kuroo winces at the bright light that enters, lifting one hand to shield himself from it. Lev turns back to him with a grin. “Alisa’s drawing your bath right now, and Akane-chan’s gone to pick up your wedding kimono for the ceremony tomorrow. Are you excited?!”

“Ecstatic,” Kuroo mutters, dragging himself out of bed and shuffling toward his bathroom.

“I’ll let Yaku-san know you’re awake!” Lev exclaims, practically skipping out of the door.

Kuroo has half a mind to ban him from the ceremony. At least his sister greets him with a sympathetic smile.

“They told me you nearly drank yourself to death last night,” she says, tutting at him, as he strips and steps into the bath. She immediately sets to work on his hair, drawing down her various bottles of shampoo and perfume and shaving cream. Kuroo lets her work on him, grateful for a chance to relax and not do anything for a moment.

“Yeah, well, you know. The excitement got to me.”

“Hmm,” Alisa hums thoughtfully. Kuroo doesn’t try to interpret that. He closes his eyes instead, enjoying the soothing feeling of her fingers massaging his scalp.

He has to resist the urge to ask her if _she_ thinks this marriage is a good idea. He’s already made up his mind about it. It’s the right thing to do, no matter the personal consequences. Despite that knowledge, dread fills his stomach like a stone, weighing down his steps, as dresses and makes his way to the throne room to greet his future bride.

Morisuke and Nobuyuki are already there. Morisuke’s smile freezes when he gets a good look at Kuroo.

“You look like shit,” he declares.

“Really? I thought Alisa made me look quite pretty,” Kuroo says drily, taking a seat on his throne.

“You’re pale and have bags under your eyes . . . I can see them through the face powder!”

“Yeah, well, I had a rough night,” Kuroo says, waving him off and trying not to get irritated.

“You can’t—”

Nobuyuki places his hand on Morisuke’s shoulder, cutting him off. When Morisuke glances at him over his shoulder, he just shakes his head. Sighing, Morisuke turns back to Kuroo, this time with a worried frown.

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” he asks.

“Kinda too late to be asking that question, don’t you think?” Kuroo asks with a crooked half-smile.

Morisuke purses his lips, but before he can reply, Inuoka Sou steps into the throne room to announce Princess Hitoka’s arrival.

Kuroo stands, smoothing down the front of his kimono and trying not to think of Kenma, as the princess of Karasuno steps through the door. At her sides are two bodyguards and behind them are two handmaidens. They’re all dressed in the Karasuno colors of black and orange, and the bodyguards are holding flags with their kingdom’s sigil on them over their shoulders: a silhouette of a black crow flying in front of an orange sun. The princess herself is heavily veiled, obscuring her face completely. All Kuroo can see is a glimpse of her pale hands before she hides them in the sleeves of her kimono, and some of her golden hair, gathered behind her head in an intricate knot.

The party stops in the center of the throne room, and they all bow respectfully. Kuroo, Morisuke, and Nobuyuki do as well. As he straightens, Kuroo opens his arms in a welcoming gesture, putting on his best smile.

“Welcome to Nekoma,” he greets. “I hope your journey was pleasant.”

“It was fine,” the bodyguard to Hitoka’s right speaks first. He’s tall with golden hair and glasses. He looks and sounds almost bored, but he stands close to Hitoka in a protective way.

On her other side, the second bodyguard stands perfectly straight, freckles standing out against his pale skin, brown hair falling over his eyes. He glances around nervously. Kuroo wonders if this is his first time outside of Karasuno.

“Well, I am Kuroo Tetsurou, as you probably know, and these are my advisors, Yaku Morisuke and Kai Nobuyuki. Any questions or concerns you may have can be directed to them. And of course, anything of ours is yours during your stay here,” Kuroo continues. “Just ask for a servant and they’ll bring you whatever you need. We usually dine around six, and you’re welcome to join us, but if you’d rather rest, that’s perfectly understandable. We can have food sent to your rooms.”

“Thanks,” says the same guard as before. Kuroo wonders why Hitoka isn’t speaking for herself, but he doesn’t call attention to it.

“If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to your rooms,” Morisuke says, stepping down from the dais to gesture toward the side entrance.

Bowing, they all leave, following Morisuke out. Kuroo watches them all go, thinking that’d been painless enough. He breathes a shaky sigh, resisting the urge to push his fingers through his carefully styled hair, though parts of it are already coming loose to hang stubbornly in front of his right eye, as per usual.

Nobuyuki places a hand on his shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. “Courage,” he says softly.

Kuroo nods. “Going to need it.”

He half-expects Hitoka to decline to join them at dinner, and he’s proven right a few hours later. He doesn’t really know what to make of that. Does she hate him already? What did Sawamura tell her about him? He has to resist the urge to send a message and ask the guy. He doesn’t think Sawamura would do anything to sabotage the wedding, but maybe Hitoka got the wrong idea. Maybe there’s been a misunderstanding.

He finds himself pacing back and forth in his room after dinner, trying to come up with a plausible reason for why the princess is ignoring him.

“Maybe she thinks you’re scary,” suggests Lev, unhelpful as always.

“Maybe she’s stuck-up! Most beautiful girls are stuck-up,” Taketora muses, rubbing his chin.

Kuroo rolls his eyes. “You just think that because the last time we went to Karasuno that girl with the raven hair ignored you.”

Taketora sputters but doesn’t deny it.

“Maybe it’s not really the princess. Maybe it’s an imposter _posing_ as the princess to get close to you and kill you!” Lev exclaims, eyes wide.

Kuroo grimaces. That’s the last thing he needs on his mind: a possible assassination attempt. He shakes his head. “No, no, I’m sure that’s not it. Maybe it’s just a weird . . . Karasuno tradition. The bride can’t see or speak to the groom before the wedding . . . or something . . .”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure that’s it, Kuroo-sama,” Lev says, patting his shoulder in a way that’s pretty patronizing.

Kuroo sits on the edge of his bed, rubbing his hands over his face. He stands up again almost immediately, crossing toward the door. “I’m going to the courtyard,” he says, not specifying which one. They all know which one.

“Do you want us to stay or . . .?” Taketora watches him closely, and Kuroo knows he’s asking whether or not he’s going to see Kenma.

“Yeah, stay,” he agrees with a nod. He’s not sure if he wants to see Kenma after last night, but he does need the time alone to clear his head.

Leaving his two bodyguards behind, he makes his way down to the servants’ quarters. The evening is quiet, and he catches a glimpse of Fukunaga Shouhei slipping into his room silently. They catch each other’s eye, and Kuroo raises his hand in greeting. Fukunaga nods back before disappearing into his room. The man is practically a ghost. Kuroo can’t help but wonder what his story is.

He makes his way down the new stone path to the repaired bench. Sitting down with a sigh, he looks around at the budding grass and shrubbery, wondering what it’ll look like when everything’s in full bloom. Beautiful, he hopes. It’ll be one thing he can look back on in the future and know that he did well.

The light’s on in Kenma’s room. Kuroo can see his silhouette moving around inside, preparing for bed. He crosses to the wardrobe and removes the outer layers of his yukata, keeping the inner layers on as he turns back to his futon. He lowers out of sight, then, and Kuroo bites his lip. He’s tempted to go over there, to knock on his door and ask to hide with him; from the world, his responsibilities, this wedding.

Some part of him knows that, if he asks, Kenma will welcome him. He’ll let him lie down beside him, wrap himself around Kenma’s smaller form to hold him close, to lose himself in the comfort of his warmth. He knows Kenma will stroke his hair, rub his back, might even whisper quiet assurances to him in the dark of the night, lips pressed against his ear, breath curling around it, in a way that’ll make Kuroo shiver. And Kuroo will take all those words to heart, find the truth in them and cling to them. He’ll find safety in them, in Kenma, for at least one night.

In the end, though, he simply goes back to his room.

No use picking at that scab. It’s not going to change anything, and he’ll just end up bleeding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((here is heather headley's [original version](https://youtu.be/RcgqkqWP_Jo) of the song, which holds a lot of defiance and anger
> 
> and here is the [king's academy version](https://youtu.be/V1Kb61A6o8w) (a high school!), which plays it in a more tragic way
> 
> it's up to you which one you think works best in the scenario of the fic))
> 
> https://shions-heart.tumblr.com/


	5. A Step Too Far

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning: another panic attack in this one ;;; to skip it, stop at "He comes to a stop" and CTRL/Command + F to "I can’t do this"

i am certain that i love him,  
but a love can be misplaced.  
have i compromised my people,  
in my passion and my haste?

i could be his life companion,  
anywhere but where we are.  
am i leader? am i traitor?  
did i take a step too far?  
did i take a step too far?

\-- elton john, _aida_, "a step too far"

* * *

Kuroo sleeps fitfully. When he wakes, he finds he has no appetite. Alisa tuts at him, hiding the circles beneath his eyes as best she can, styling his hair, wrapping his new black and grey montsuki haori hakama. The colors seem appropriate for his current mood, he notes without humor. As Alisa attaches his family’s crest to the outside of the haori, he stares at himself in the mirror and wonders if any groom has ever looked so miserable.

“Chin up, heika,” Alisa tells him, chucking him under the chin gently. “You have to smile for your bride, all right? She’s completely new here, and she’s probably terrified. I know this is difficult for you, but for her sake, please don’t go into this with such a sad expression.”

Kuroo gives her a wry smile. “I know. I won’t,” he says, very used to faking it by now. It seems like faking it is all he’s been doing. All the years of study and preparation to take the throne seemed to mean nothing the day his father died. The palace in which he grew up, lived in his whole life, felt like a foreign land. Nothing made sense, and he had to rely on Morisuke and Nobuyuki to remember how the coronation went, what laws he needed to memorize, what position to take during meetings with the nobles.

Did he ever thank them for that? They were such pillars; they are still.

He feels sick.

The temple where the ceremony’s being held stands half a mile from the palace, at the base of a mountain. Kuroo walks with a procession of his people, but he doesn’t see any of them. His limbs feel heavy, like he’s moving underwater, and all he can hear is the rushing of his own blood in his ears, and the soft crunch of the path beneath his zōri.

When they arrive at the temple, the same one where his mother’s funeral was held, his father’s funeral, Kuroo feels his steps slow. He comes to a stop, even as the rest of the procession heads inside. He’s breathing shallowly, unable to take complete inhales. That now familiar sensation of his lungs shrinking fills him. His chest is too tight, his heart pounding too fast. He feels like he’s about to pass out.

“Heika?”

Morisuke’s voice, as though from far away, even though Kuroo can see him standing directly in front of him. He clutches at his chest, curling his fingers into his haori. He wants to rip it off. Maybe if he does, he’ll be able to breathe.

“I-I can’t—I can’t—” He gasps, each inhale drawn painfully through his tightening windpipe.

“Hey, hey, come here.” Morisuke takes his arm, leading him over to the steps of the temple. He sits down, pulling Kuroo down beside him. With his hand at the back of Kuroo’s head, he pushes it down between his knees. “Breathe,” he instructs.

Kuroo gulps in as much air as he can, trying to remember how Kenma told him to do it. How many counts was it? Three? No, five. Hold for five. Then exhale.

He tries it, as his vision fades and returns, gripping his knees tightly. Morisuke’s hand falls to his back, rubbing it in slow circles. He keeps telling him to breathe, and Kuroo does his best, inhaling shakily, holding for five, then exhaling. Slowly, his vision clears, and his heart stops its frantic rhythm, gradually returning to a normal, if elevated, pace. His breaths still tremble, but he feels steadier than before.

“I can’t do this,” he says miserably. “I can’t. I’ll just disappoint her. I’m going to disappoint her, and you, and Nobuyuki . . . I’m going to disappoint my people, my-my father . . .”

“No, you won’t,” Morisuke says firmly, giving his shoulder a squeeze.

Kuroo looks up and over at him despondently. “I like men, Mori.”

Morisuke doesn’t even blink. “I know,” he says.

Kuroo stares, too stunned to be upset for a moment. He gestures helplessly toward the temple behind them. “Then . . . why would you . . .”

Morisuke sighs. “Sawamura-sama only has the one sibling, and he’s already married. I considered Shiratorizawa to the north, but I didn’t think you and Ushijima-sama would really get along.”

Kuroo snorts softly; Morisuke’s right about _that_, at least.

“From everything I’ve heard, the princess is a really sweet and supportive young woman. I’m sure if you explain your preferences to her, she’ll understand.”

“I don’t know if I can produce an heir,” Kuroo murmurs, another worry rising to the forefront of his mind.

“So don’t,” Morisuke says, meeting his gaze squarely. “You can adopt an heir, if you want. Or appoint a successor. There are other options, Tetsurou. You’re not as stuck as you think you are.”

Kuroo swallows hard, glancing down the pathway toward the palace. “That’s . . . not everything.”

Morisuke nods. “The servant, Kozume.”

Kuroo grimaces. “Do you just know . . . _everything_ about me?” he asks.

“Well, yeah. It’s kind of my _job_,” Morisuke says, nudging him in the ribs with a faint grin. “But, for the record, I’ve known you like men since before we were teens.”

Kuroo’s eyes widen. “Seriously? _I_ didn’t even know back then.”

Morisuke snorts. “Please. You were always staring at those shirtless fire-dancers during the festivals. You barely glanced at the women belly-dancers, but your eyes were aaaaaaall up in those glistening abs.”

Kuroo feels his face grow red, and he buries it in his hand, as Morisuke laughs. “Shut up,” he says, shoving his friend in the shoulder.

Morisuke shakes his head with a faint grin. “My point is, you’re my best friend. I know you. And despite all this craziness surrounding the wedding, I know you’ve been spending a lot of time with Kozume. I know I don’t have to tell you what a bad idea that is.”

Kuroo sighs. “Yeah, no. I know.” He places his elbow on his knee, chin in his hand, as he looks off down the path once more, down to the palace at the base of the incline. From this distance, he can see into a couple of the courtyards. Several servants are setting up tables in the main courtyard, preparing it for the reception. There’s only one servant sitting in the servants’ courtyard, however, pale hair visible even from this distance. Kuroo swallows hard.

“You’re the king,” Morisuke reminds him gently. “You have a lot of freedom in this position, but also many restraints. Personally, I don’t care if you want to shag a servant. But I know you’d want more than that. You’re not the type of guy that can be satisfied with something only physical. You’ll want a relationship with him, and that might harm your reputation. People could say you’re playing favorites, or you’re being manipulated by someone who wants to use your status for favors. If you’re unfaithful to your wife, in what other areas of your life are you unfaithful? Can you truly be trusted if you marry one person yet say you love another?”

Kuroo shoots him a withering look. “Thanks for laying out all my worries right in front of me like that. It’s super helpful.”

Morisuke gives his arm a squeeze. “I’m saying all this to tell you I understand your predicament.” He hesitates, his hand falling away. “I . . . can fire Kozume, if that will help.”

Kuroo lifts his head with a frown. “No. Don’t. His family needs the money.” He glances over his shoulder at the temple before sighing. “I know how to control myself. I won’t do anything with him.”

Morisuke’s brow furrows. “You’re putting more pressure on yourself if you keep him around.”

“I know. But I can’t kick him out onto the streets just because my chest will hurt whenever I see him,” Kuroo says, shaking his head. “I can’t be selfish like that.”

“Tetsu, you’re probably one of the least selfish people I know,” Morisuke says, moving to stand. “You’ll make yourself miserable always putting others first, you know.”

Kuroo can’t help but smirk at the reminder. “Yeah . . . Kozume said something like that too.”

“I knew I liked him.” Morisuke holds out his hand. “You feel like you can do this now?”

Kuroo stares at Morisuke’s hand for a moment before taking it and pulling himself to his feet. “If I have you by my side, definitely.”

Morisuke tsks, snatching his hand away. “I can’t believe you can say shit like that with a straight face,” he says, shaking his head, even as his cheeks grow pink.

Nobuyuki appears at the top of the stairs, walking down a few steps before stopping and beckoning to them. “Everyone’s ready for the ceremony,” he says.

Kuroo inhales deeply and squares his shoulders. He walks with Morisuke up the rest of the way to the archway that leads to the temple. He stops when he gets to Nobuyuki, though, placing his hand on his shoulder, before putting the other on Morisuke’s.

“Thank you. Both of you,” he says seriously, glancing between them. “I never would’ve gotten this far without you. Please continue taking care of me.”

Nobuyuki beams happily, but Morisuke brushes his hand away with a scowl.

“Don’t say it like that,” he mutters, his face red again.

“Of course we will,” Nobuyuki says firmly.

With that reassurance, Kuroo steps through the archway and continues into the temple with his head held high, back straight, steps sure. Morisuke and Nobuyuki follow, and they take their places beside him, as he stands before the priest with Hitoka at his side. She’s wearing a shiromuku, beautifully embroidered with pearls and rubies. It’s intricate and dazzling, and Kuroo’s so distracted by it, he almost forgets to look at her face. But she’s not facing him, and the shield of her wataboshi obscures her features.

Well, that’s that for now, he supposes, before looking at the priest as well and giving him a nod to proceed.

The ceremony is formal yet brief, thankfully. The entire time, Kuroo feels on edge, especially because he can feel the intense stares of both Karasuno bodyguards on the back of his head, from where they stand among the attendees. He does his best to ignore them, wondering if they plan to stay at the palace with Hitoka or if they’ll go back to Karasuno once the reception is over. He can’t help but hope it’s the latter, not entirely sure what he’s done to earn such ire.

Hitoka’s handmaidens whisk her away after the ceremony to help her change into her iro-uchikake for the reception. By the time the entire procession makes it back to the palace, the sun has made its way across the sky, now hovering above the horizon. They all cast long shadows against the ground, and Kuroo can’t help but wish that one of them will grab him and pull him beneath the earth.

The main courtyard is decked out in a truly remarkable display of lanterns, colored red and white, multiple dangling from every tree limb. The tables are piled high with delicious-looking food; there’s a table for meats, fish, and produce, one for only baked goods, and one for sweets. Wine and sake flow and conversations begin, as people enjoy the various delicacies. A few musicians stand or kneel in the center of the courtyard, playing upbeat music full of life and joy.

Kuroo feels none of that, but he does his best to pretend he does, as he makes his rounds among the guests. He can’t bring himself to eat anything, still, the knot in his stomach growing larger the more time passes. He does end up downing at least three cups of wine before Morisuke cuts him off with a silent warning. Still, it helps loosen him up, and he enjoys himself more, though he’s sure his laugh is getting less refined and more obnoxious.

When Hitoka arrives, the guests “ooh” and “ahh” over her outfit, which is a pomegranate red kimono with extremely long sleeves, covered in black crows and white cherry blossoms. Kuroo watches from afar, as she sticks beside her handmaidens and bodyguards, almost seeming to hide behind them. Kuroo can’t really blame her at this point. He feels like hiding, too.

He can feel a headache forming at the base of his skull, throbbing through the entirety of it. His forehead above the bridge of his nose aches too, and he rubs at it absently.

“This is a great party, Kuroo-sama!” Lev exclaims, appearing out of nowhere at the worst possible time.

“Yeah,” Kuroo gives him a tight smile. “Why don’t you ask Morisuke if he wants to dance?”

Lev’s eyes widen. From their glassiness and the flush high on his cheeks, Kuroo knows he must be tipsy, if not completely drunk. He _almost_ feels bad for Morisuke when Lev goes stumbling off to find him, but the small bastard probably deserves it. Besides, he gets the feeling Morisuke isn’t as annoyed with Lev as he pretends to be.

Taketora appears next, openly sobbing. Kuroo only catches a few words between his tears, “beautiful bride” and “lucky king” being the key topic, it seems. He pats Taketora on the head, smelling the alcohol on his breath, and tells him to take it easy.

He edges his way toward the outskirts of those gathered, wondering if he can escape without anyone noticing. But of course he’s noticed, he’s the king, and a few nobles surround him, trapping him with their congratulations and not-so-subtle requests for favors. He manages to segue the conversation off those topics, but he can’t escape the small talk.

Finally, finally, the guests begin to disperse. In his relief to see them leave, Kuroo realizes he forgot about what comes next, and fear clenches its fist around his stomach once more. He drinks a couple more glasses of wine, before stepping over to Hitoka, offering his hand to her with what he hopes is a pleasant smile.

“Princess, shall we retire?”

She looks up at him, brown eyes wide in her pale face. It takes Kuroo a moment to realize he _does_ recognize her. Several years prior, at the last festival he attended in Karasuno. She hid behind her mother almost the entire time, a small little thing too shy to say hello. Looking at her now, he sees she hasn’t grown much since then, and the expression on her face hasn’t changed either.

She looks terrified.

He does his best to soften his expression, but that can’t bode well. Bowing slightly, he keeps his hand outstretched until he feels her small fingers take it. They’re trembling. He gives them a reassuring squeeze, before announcing his well wishes and good nights upon those that still remain. Leading her gently away, he walks through the throne room of the palace, toward the side entrance to the royal family’s chambers.

It’s an empty space, now, with only one room occupied: his own. It makes for peaceful nights, but in this moment the lack of movement and conversation behind the rice-paper walls feels eerily oppressive. The silence is a heavy weight growing increasingly heavier the closer he gets to his room.

He can hear the sound of footsteps behind him, but when he looks it’s only Inuoka Sou, giving him a faint half-smile.

“Yaku-san asked me to stand guard, since the other two are wasted,” he explains.

Kuroo nods. “Ah. Yes. Thank you.”

Inuoka bows, and Kuroo pulls Hitoka into his room and shuts the door. He releases her hand to press his forehead against the door frame, closing his eyes and trying to get his heartbeat under control. This is the moment he’s been dreading since the beginning, but it may not be as bad as he fears. Communication is key.

Turning, he opens his mouth to ask how Hitoka’s feeling, but the words get stuck in his throat, as he notices the tears streaming down her cheeks.

“What’s—”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Hitoka gasps, clutching her hands together in front of her, as she bows deeply, bent completely at the waist. “I told myself I wouldn’t cry, but I’m just _so_ nervous and-and scared and I-I heard that it hurts and I don’t want it to hurt because what if I hate it or what if I do something wrong and you hate me and then what if you banish me because you hate me and I have to live on the streets because I have no money in this kimono and I won’t be able to buy a cart or a crow to send a message and I’ll be stuck and I’ll have to fight the rats for food but I’m a terrible fighter so I’ll lose and then die in an alley in the dirt covered in rat bites!”

Kuroo stares. It seems as if she’s said all this in only one breath, and it’s all so ridiculous, he almost laughs in her face. As it is, he has to stifle a chuckle, shaking his head as he steps forward.

“Hitoka-chan,” he says gently, kneeling on the floor so he can look up at her. Her cheeks are bright red, the tears still streaming down. He reaches for her arms, carefully guiding her to kneel in front of him before taking both her hands in his. He lifts them, kissing the backs of each one lightly before lowering them to hover between them. “None of those things will happen,” he assures her. “I’ll never send you away, or let you die in the streets eaten by rats.”

Hitoka nods, but the tears don’t stop. The fear her eyes is still present, and it makes Kuroo feel worse than before. Giving her hands a squeeze, he releases them, holding his hands up next.

“I won’t touch you. If you don’t want to do this, we don’t have to.”

Hitoka’s chin quivers. “But I-I . . . the marriage . . .”

“I know. But you’re terrified, and to be honest . . . I don’t know how I’m doing either. Not great, for sure. It doesn’t have anything to do with you, I just . . .” Kuroo sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m in love with someone else.”

Hitoka’s eyes grow wide. “Really?” she squeaks. “Then . . . why did you ask to marry me?”

“They explained it to you, didn’t they? What a merger of our kingdoms will do?”

Hitoka nods, sniffling some.

“That’s why,” Kuroo says helplessly. “My people are struggling, Hitoka-chan, and Daishou from Nohebi is breathing down my neck, looking for any opening, any weakness. A union like this will really help both my people and keep Daishou at bay.”

“I understand,” Hitoka says, voice whisper-soft. Her eyes drop to her hands, thumbs rolling over each other. “I didn’t want to leave Karasuno,” she admits after a moment. “There’s . . . someone there I like too . . .” Her voice trails off into silence.

For a moment they just sit there, each feeling keenly the weight of their loss.

“How old are you?” Kuroo asks, realizing he doesn’t even know that much.

Hitoka jumps, startled by the sudden speech. “Eighteen,” she squeaks.

Kuroo winces inwardly. So damn young. _Too_ damn young.

He moves to stand, taking her by the elbows to lift her to her feet as well. “How about this,” he says. “Neither of us probably slept well last night. Why don’t you stay here, and I’ll sleep in my father’s old room? I can have your handmaidens brought here to keep you company if you don’t want to be alone, but today was extremely stressful for the both of us, and if we try to sleep in the same bed, I’m pretty sure that’ll just add more stress. I know there’s an expectation hanging over us, but we don’t have to do anything about that right now.”

Hitoka nods, relief evident in her features. “Yes, please, thank you, I’m sorry,” she says, bowing again.

Kuroo only places his hand lightly on her head, before turning to leave. He tells Inuoka to fetch Hitoka’s handmaidens, before turning toward his father’s room.

He hasn’t seen the inside since he died.

Despite a year passing, Kuroo still finds himself hesitating at the threshold. Everything will be the same, look the same. Although he allows the cleaning staff to tidy it up every month, they always tell him afterwards that they put everything back just as they found it.

It’s a ghost’s room, now.

Knowing he won’t find any rest in there, he turns and makes his way toward the servants’ quarters. With every step, his mind tells him to stop and turn back. He’s being foolish. This won’t satisfy him; it will only prolong the pain.

Still, he must be a masochist, because he walks right up to Kenma’s door and knocks.

It takes a moment for the other to answer. When he does, he looks surprised to see Kuroo standing there. He takes in the wedding kimono, and Kuroo notices with a flicker of something akin to both hope and dread that Kenma’s eyes are rimmed with red.

“I know this is terrible timing, but may I come in?”

Kenma steps back, sliding the door open enough to let Kuroo through. He’s already in his habajuban for the night and is barefoot. Kuroo slips out of his zōri, leaving them by the door. The lantern is still lit on the table, and there’s an open book lying face down on Kenma’s pillow, reminiscent of the first night Kuroo came here.

Kenma’s watching him, not saying anything as he waits. Kuroo runs a hand through his hair, messing up the style enough so that the strands that usually fall in front of his right eye do so again, escaping whatever slick product Alisa used to make them obey.

“So. The wedding happened,” he says, stating the obvious.

Kenma says nothing.

Kuroo gestures absently toward the door. “I left her in my room with her handmaidens. I couldn’t . . . she was so scared, Kenma. She started rambling about how it would hurt, and I would end up hating her for it, or some such nonsense. It’s hard to believe there’s someone out there more anxious than I am, but I’m pretty sure she wins that prize.” He laughs, because he doesn’t know what else to do.

Kenma remains silent.

“So, yeah. I didn’t consummate, which makes me a failure, not only as a king but also a husband. But I couldn’t touch her when she looked so terrified. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t.” Kuroo shakes his head quickly. He runs his hand through his hair again. It feels like his entire body is shaking. “I know I don’t deserve it, and I know it’ll probably only hurt later, but is it all right if I stay the night here? I’ll sleep on the floor. I don’t mind.”

Kenma stares at him like he’s lost his mind. Maybe he has.

A hysterical laugh rips from his throat. “I know! I know, it’s crazy. The king sleeping on the floor of a servant’s room. How undignified. But I don’t care about dignity right now. You make me feel safe, and I-I . . . I need to feel safe right now. Another selfish request. I’m sorry. This will be the last one, I promise.”

Kenma crosses over to the bed, sitting down and picking up the book. He closes it, setting it on the floor beside the futon, before moving so that his side is pressed up against the wall.

“You don’t have to sleep on the floor,” he says softly, staring down at the empty space beside him.

Kuroo almost chokes on his next breath. “A-are you sure?”

Kenma doesn’t reply, only continues to stare at the spot. Swallowing hard, Kuroo begins to untie the various pieces of his wedding kimono. His fingers are definitely trembling. He struggles some with the tied pieces, but manages it without help (which is good, because Kenma’s not offering him any). Once he’s down to his own habajuban, he steps over the pile of clothing to approach the futon.

He kneels carefully, one leg after the other, giving Kenma time to change his mind. Kenma turns his gaze toward the door. In the low, flickering lantern light, it almost seems like there’s a blush rising on his cheeks. Turning, Kuroo sits, staring off at the same spot for a moment.

“I had another panic attack, just before,” he admits into the silence. “I haven’t eaten all day. I barely slept. I’m a mess.” He sighs, running a hand over his face. “I know you said I deserve to be happy, but honestly, Kenma . . . I’m afraid I might never be happy again. I’ve been feeling like that for a while. Ever since my father died, actually.” He inhales shakily. “Being with you helps. I don’t feel so . . . trapped. I go through the motions of being king, but the entire time I’m thinking ‘what am I doing? I’m not fit to lead. It should be Father ruling, not me. I’m only going to disappoint all of them.’ I feel like I’m drowning.”

A slender hand worms its way into his, holding on firmly. Kuroo can’t help but smile, as he looks down at it. “You’re like this . . . safe harbor in a storm. Morisuke and Nobuyuki . . . they’re great and loyal and I know I can rely on them, and I do, but with you . . . it’s just different. Maybe it’s because I’m in love with you, but it’s been that way since I met you.” He glances sidelong at Kenma, tears filling his eyes involuntarily. “I don’t want to lose you.”

Kenma reaches up with his free hand, placing it against the side of Kuroo’s face. Without a word, he leans forward, pressing his lips against Kuroo’s.

At first, Kuroo’s too shocked to respond. All his thoughts disappear until he’s a completely blank slate, only existing in this space because Kenma’s lips are grounding him. They push and move gently, until Kuroo has the presence of mind to return it. He parts his lips, and Kenma’s glide between them with a sigh. Squeezing his eyes shut, Kuroo twists toward Kenma, reaching with his free hand to grab his waist and pull him closer.

He presses deeper, that ache in his chest bursting into flames that climb higher and higher. Kenma sucks on his lower lip, and the flames _burn_. Kuroo gasps, and then Kenma’s tongue is in his mouth, licking along the sides of it and his tongue. Kuroo trembles as he lifts his tongue to meet it. They glide against one another, warm and squishy and soft, and Kuroo grips Kenma’s waist tighter, pushing him down against the futon, wanting to go deeper still.

He wants to melt into Kenma, into this sensation, this feeling of hunger and want. Everything that plagued his mind, every worry and insecurity, has vanished. There’s nothing but Kenma and his tongue and his lips, his fingers moving into his hair, his knee resting against Kuroo’s hip, his body arching into his, and the fire inside Kuroo’s chest that’s scorching him from the inside out.

He moans, a low, guttural sound that rumbles through him. He’s never made that sound before in his life, he’s pretty sure. Kenma whimpers in response, a soft, desperate noise, saturated with need. It goes directly to Kuroo’s groin, and he feels his cock stiffening.

_Wait, wait, wait. I have to stop. There’s a reason I didn’t want this to happen._

He can’t for the life of him remember what that reason is.

Rolling his hips down against Kenma’s, he’s gratified to hear the sharp inhale the movement elicits. Kenma’s hard too, straining against his juban, and Kuroo rocks down against the bulge, moaning in tandem with Kenma, this time. He has to break from the kiss, panting hard, the entire room feeling much too hot.

Kenma’s hands tug at the back of his habajuban, and Kuroo complies, slipping out of it easily, down to only his fundoshi, now, which is slowly becoming soaked with the desire gathering on the tip of his cock. He has to lean back to allow Kenma to shed his, and as soon as he does, the coolness of the air hits him, bringing back one single jolt of clarity.

This is his wedding night.

He’s married.

Kenma’s already shed his habajuban when he notices the shift in Kuroo’s expression. He’s down to his own fundoshi now, but he doesn’t continue stripping. Instead, his wide golden eyes study Kuroo, and he must see the guilt beneath the lust. He purses his lips, before falling back against the futon with a deep sigh of disappointment.

“I’m sorry,” Kuroo says in a miserable whisper.

He hates himself so much. He hates himself for forgetting his wife and for starting something with Kenma he knows is wrong, and then for not even going through with it in the end.

Kenma frowns up at him. “Don’t be,” he says, shaking his head. He says nothing else, simply reaches up to take the back of Kuroo’s head, guiding it down to rest against his chest.

Kuroo curls up beside him, wrapping his arm around Kenma’s waist, pressing himself in as close as he can. He can hear the rapid beat of Kenma’s heart, thudding against his ribs. It matches the speed of his own heart, even as he tries to settle it.

Reaching down, he pulls the blanket up over them both before resuming his position. Kenma’s arm falls against his shoulders, his fingertips trailing lightly across the curve of one. It sends a different type of shiver down Kuroo’s back, and he buries his face in the warm skin of Kenma’s chest.

_I love you._

The words are on the tip of his tongue, but he can’t bring himself to say them. He can’t put that onto Kenma when there’s nothing either of them can do about it.

Why can’t he have this? What did he do so wrong in his past life that he was reborn into a crown prince? Why did his father have to die so soon? Why did Daishou have to be such an asshole? Why couldn’t he have met Kenma sooner?

All these questions and more cycle through his troubled mind. He does his best to banish them, to return to that sweet, blissful silence he experienced when Kenma kissed him. But nothing works, not even the memory of the kiss.

Softly, Kenma begins to hum.

Kuroo can feel the vibrations of the sound within Kenma’s chest better than he can actually hear the melody. It takes him a moment to recognize it.

It’s his mother’s song.

Soothed by the familiar tune in a beloved voice, Kuroo slowly releases each bitter question, one by one, into the wind. With his eyes closed, he watches them float away, carried to a distant land where they can’t hurt him.

Somehow, despite the tension still within his chest, Kuroo manages to fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yaku morisuke for best boy award
> 
> https://shions-heart.tumblr.com/


	6. Unintended Emotional Crimes

i'm so tired of all we're going through;  
i don't want to live like that.  
i'm so tired of all we're going through;  
i don't want to love like that.  
i just want to be with you.

\-- elton john, _aida_, "elaborate lives (reprise)"

* * *

Kenma’s gone when Kuroo wakes. For a moment he simply lies there, staring at the indentation in the pillow and futon next to him from where Kenma’s body lay. Outside in the courtyard, birds greet the morning with cheerful chirps and song, no doubt making their homes in the branches of the newly pruned tree. Kuroo hopes, with only the barest hint of bitterness, that they enjoy it.

He sits up slowly, trying to gauge how early it is by the light coming through the rice paper door. He probably missed having breakfast with the palace staff, but he can make it in time to have the meal with Morisuke and Nobuyuki, probably.

Looking to the side, he reaches for his kimono before stopping. He stares at the black and gray colors of the wedding pieces, remembering then what happened the night before.

He has a wife. He’s married.

Dropping his head into his hands, Kuroo sighs. He meant to sleep in his father’s room, he told Hitoka he would, but instead he came to Kenma. This has to stop. He has to stop running to Kenma each time he needs a distraction. It won’t fix anything.

He needs to take responsibility.

Dressing quickly, he quietly exits Kenma’s room and makes his way down to his, being careful not to run into anyone. It’s still early enough that not many people are out, and he manages to avoid any confrontations. When he reaches his room, he hesitates. He sent Inuoka to bring Hitoka’s handmaidens to her. Are they all still in here? Will he be interrupting anything?

He knocks lightly, but when he hears no noise from inside, he carefully slides open the door.

The bed is made; everything in their rightful place. It looks as though nobody spent the night there at all. Kuroo tries not to wonder at that, getting changed as swiftly as he can into something more casual: a crimson kimono with a pattern of black cherry blossom trees, the blossoms white and pink. Perhaps he’s being a little optimistic with this choice of outfit, but he’s determined to talk with Hitoka and figure out an arrangement that will make her happy and works best for their marriage.

He’s surprised to find her at breakfast, her two bodyguards standing behind her (_so they didn’t return to Karasuno_), dressed in a pale pink kimono that brings out the pink on her cheeks. Morisuke and Nobuyuki are already there, as well. All three are eating quietly, which is unsettling.

“I see you’ve started without me,” Kuroo says, as he steps through the doorway.

Hitoka squeaks in surprise, nearly dropping her chopsticks. Morisuke just rolls his eyes.

“You were taking too long to arrive. The eggs were getting cold,” he says, gesturing to a covered bowl at the end of the table where Kuroo usually sits.

He takes a seat, drawing the bowl closer with a word of thanks. Hitoka doesn’t look over at him, cheeks flushed as her fingers clutch her chopsticks so tightly that they begin to tremble. Kuroo frowns.

“It’s all right,” he tells her. “You can keep eating. I really don’t mind.”

Hitoka exhales slowly, pasting on a wobbly smile. “Um, good morning,” she says shyly.

“Morning,” Kuroo replies with a nod. “I hope you slept well?”

“Oh, um, yes. Thank you.” Hitoka’s head bobs quickly up and down. “Did . . . you?”

“Never better,” Kuroo says, telling the truth. He glances over at her bodyguards, then, realizing he doesn’t know their names. “Who are you two then?” he asks, gesturing to them with his chopsticks as he uncovers his bowl.

The golden-haired one with the glasses doesn’t look at him as he answers. “Tsukishima Kei,” he says, his voice bland.

“Um, Y-Yamaguchi Tadashi, heika,” the freckled one says, bowing his head.

“How long have you been serving the princess?” Kuroo asks curiously, mixing his egg and ham in with the rice.

“Um, about three years, I think?” Yamaguchi says, glancing toward Tsukishima for confirmation. “Right, Tsukki?”

Tsukishima sighs, like it takes too much energy out of him to even reply. “Right.”

“I take it you’ll be staying here in Nekoma to continue doing so?” Kuroo asks.

Yamaguchi nods. “Those were our orders,” he says. “Sawamura-sama says it’s not that he doesn’t trust you and your men, but he wanted the princess to have some familiar faces around. He knew she was, um, pretty nervous about being away from home.”

Kuroo glances at Hitoka, who still won’t meet his gaze. He remembers what she said the night before, about not wanting to leave Karasuno. He mulls that over, as he eats. One of his worries was that she’d hate living in Nekoma. She’s not far from home, but living in another country, especially one where you know nobody and are unfamiliar with the customs, can be daunting. At least, Kuroo can imagine it is.

He also can’t help but think of her confession. She loves someone back in Karasuno. Someone she may never see again, thanks to his proposal. How depressing. They’re both stuck in a situation neither of them wants. Kuroo can’t help but feel responsible. In his desperation to take care of his people, he pulled her from her home, her family, and what can he even offer her in return? Nothing worth her sacrifice, probably.

He’s still thinking about how to fix things hours later, when Hitoka meets with him and Morisuke and Nobuyuki in the throne room, bringing with her the official union agreement from Sawamura. Morisuke reads it aloud, as Nobuyuki takes notes.

“Good, good. This is good,” Morisuke says once he’s finished. “A third of their army is enough to help us cover the border, and he’s given us more than enough land for at least half of our middle class to own and cultivate.” He looks over at Hitoka. “This is incredibly generous. Thank you.” He bows slightly.

Hitoka blushes. “Well, we benefit too,” she says, hands clasped in her lap. “Th-the land was just sitting there, since we have so much more . . . it was a waste of potential resources for us, too. We just ask that you share a portion of whatever your citizens make with our citizens. It can be any sized portion. I’ll leave it up to you to decide.” She glances toward Kuroo and then away.

Kuroo drums his fingers on the tabletop. “It’d probably be good to have someone over in Karasuno to look after the Nekoma citizens there, don’t you think?” he says, an idea forming in his mind. It’s a thread that he’s followed since this morning, turning it over and over to make sure he’s considered every detail. The last thing he needs is for it to come back and bite him in the ass, but now that he’s fully considering it, he thinks it just might actually work.

“What do you mean?” Morisuke asks, watching him closely. “Like, appoint a few of the nobles to oversee the land?”

Kuroo makes a face, shaking his head. “No way. I don’t trust any of those greedy bastards. They’ll find some way to cheat Karasuno out of their portion or make it so the workers don’t have enough for themselves. No, I’m thinking of someone else. Someone I can trust to look out for not only how the land is managed but also how the citizens are treated.” He gestures toward Hitoka. “I was thinking of the princess.”

Hitoka starts in her seat, glancing over at him with wide eyes. “_Me_?”

Kuroo nods. “I can have you a house built on the land. It’ll probably not be a _big_ house, but one where you can live comfortably with whoever you want to take with you.” He gives her a meaningful look. “We’ll still be married, so the union will stay intact, but there’s no law that states you have to live here in the Nekoma palace with me. We can make it a tradition where you come here for our festivals, and I’ll go there for the Karasuno festivals, to show our unity and loyalty to each other, but other than that . . . I think you’d do really well looking after my people in a country you already know. You’ll be able to help them learn about the land and their new neighbors. You can make the transition easier for them.”

“Can we really do that?” Hitoka asks, growing bolder in her excitement, glancing back and forth between Morisuke and Kuroo.

Morisuke’s lips purse, but Kuroo knows he can’t have any objections on the basis of law. Kuroo’s studied those scrolls more times than he cares to think about. Morisuke even helped him study them. They both know there’s no law against this kind of arrangement.

“It’s not conventional,” he says slowly. “But the citizens we choose to relocate may be more willing to do so knowing the Queen herself will be there to help them and make sure they’re treated fairly.”

Kuroo nods. “I’ll check in, as well. Maybe spend a few days at your estate, if you’ll allow me,” he says, directing this toward Hitoka.

She smiles shyly. “Oh, um, yes of course,” she says with a nod.

Kuroo clasps his hands together, his chest already feeling lighter. “Great! That’s settled, then. Hitoka-chan will return to Karasuno with the relocated citizens and we’ll keep an open line of communication to ensure everything goes smoothly. We’ll attend each other’s festivals, and I’ll make regular journeys to the land to check in and show the Nekoma citizens there I haven’t abandoned them or anything.”

“I’ll start writing up the official announcement,” Nobuyuki says, moving to stand with his hands full of his notes.

“I’ll tell Sawamura-sama that we agree to his terms and let him know what our plans are,” Morisuke says, standing as well.

“Thank you, both of you,” Kuroo says, glancing between them. “I know this all might blow up in my face, so I appreciate your willingness to go along with it.”

“It’s a good idea,” Morisuke assures him, reaching out to give his shoulder a squeeze before he and Nobuyuki leave the room.

Kuroo exhales shakily, realizing his heart is pounding rapidly. He runs a hand through his hair, before looking over at Hitoka. “I meant what I said,” he tells her softly. “You can have anyone in that house with you. I don’t mind. I just want you to be happy.”

Hitoka regards him curiously. “What about you?” she asks, voice soft and sweet and without judgement.

Kuroo grimaces. “My situation’s a little more . . . complicated,” he admits. “My family has a reputation and . . . generations of tradition I’m expected to uphold.”

Hitoka hums quietly before she stands. “Maybe,” she says, tilting her head. “But you’re the king, not your family. So, if you want to change something, something you think could make things better, you should.”

Kuroo gives her a wry smile. “Maybe. I guess I’m just afraid if I do anything different than what’s been done before I’ll screw it up in some colossal way.”

“This idea is something different,” Hitoka reminds him.

“Yeah, but it’s just piggybacking off of the deal your brother made with me,” Kuroo says, not about to take full credit for it.

Hitoka takes a step closer to him, hands clasped behind her back. “Sometimes, to try and make myself less nervous about something, I think up the absolute worst-case scenario that might happen. Usually I realize after that it sounds somewhat ridiculous and probably won’t happen, and that makes me feel better.”

Kuroo raises his eyebrows, wondering if that’s what her mini rant was last night. In the end, he guessed it worked, seeing as he’d been there to assure her none of what she described would happen. He inhales slowly, glancing down at the table as he lets his mind spiral toward the worst thing that could happen.

“Worst case scenario . . . I allow myself to be in a relationship with the person I love, and people say I’m unfaithful and therefore untrustworthy and a terrible person and a terrible king . . . and they storm the palace to kill me in my sleep and the spirit of both my parents greet me in the afterlife to tell me how disappointed they are in me.” It feels absurd to say it all out loud, but Hitoka’s watching him with a serious expression, so he tries not to laugh.

“And? Do you think that’s going to happen?” she asks.

“Probably not the killing part,” Kuroo has to admit. “But they could still think I’m a terrible king.”

“You aren’t, though,” Hitoka says, shaking her head. “You can’t control what other people think, but you can control what _you_ think. Do _you_ think you’re a terrible king?”

“Well . . . no,” Kuroo admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “At least, I’m trying my best not to be.”

“So, there you go!” Hitoka says with a smile.

Kuroo can’t help but laugh. “Thanks, Hitoka-chan,” he says. “I do kind of feel better.”

Hitoka beams, and Kuroo thinks whoever she’s in love with is a really lucky person.

Once everything’s written up, the four of them meet again, this time over lunch. Kuroo reads over the announcement and the letter to Sawamura, once more grateful for Morisuke and Nobuyuki’s presence in his life, because they’re much better writers than him. Very clear and succinct.

“Why don’t we throw a festival?” Kuroo asks, once he finishes reading the announcement. “Karasuno isn’t far from Nekoma, but I know the citizens we choose to relocate might not be happy about it. We should throw a festival in their honor. It can be a traveling one, starting here at the palace and then ending at Hitoka’s home on the new land. That way, their farewell to Nekoma will cheerful instead of mournful.”

“That’s not a bad idea, though that’ll take a lot of work to set up,” Morisuke says, tapping his chin. “And we’ll have to get the princess’s home built pretty quickly.”

“My brother will have people that can help,” Hitoka says, much more open than in the previous meeting. “We have a lot of energetic palace staff that would love to work on a project like that.”

“Heh, yeah we have a couple guys like that too,” Kuroo says, glancing toward the door where Taketora and Lev stand just outside.

“All right, I’ll add it to the letter,” Morisuke says, making a note on the paper that held the first draft. “They can get started on it while we start organizing the festival. We’ll make sure the families we’re relocating have plenty of time to pack up their things, too.”

“We can time it so by the time the festival reaches the princess’s new home it’s finished and ready for her to move in,” Nobuyuki suggests.

Kuroo nods with a grin. “Exactly what I was thinking.”

Hitoka clasps her hands together. “This is exciting!”

She seems happy, so much happier than before, and Kuroo feels his heart swell in his chest. Despite knowing from the start that that marrying her was the right thing to do, this is the first time he’s actually felt the truth of it.

He relays all of this to Kenma that night, sitting at the small table in his room after most have retired for the evening. It’s probably a breach of protocol to give a servant details of a private meeting, but he knows he can trust Kenma not to say anything to anyone. Besides, all of this will be public knowledge by tomorrow (aside from Hitoka taking a secret lover).

“Sounds like you figured everything out,” Kenma says, sitting on his futon, book in hand. In his excitement, Kuroo entered his room without waiting for the other to let him in, immediately sitting down and spilling the whole story. Kenma barely looked up from his book the entire time, but Kuroo knows he heard everything, because he didn’t turn a page once.

“Yeah, I mean, mostly everything,” Kuroo says with a nod, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve found a way to make sure the princess is happy, at least, and a way to get out consummation. Nobody’s going to expect us to be having sex when one of us is a day and a half away.” He smirks faintly.

Kenma just hums noncommittally. He doesn’t seem as excited or happy about all this as Kuroo thought he’d be. Isn’t this what Kenma told him to do? Figure out a way to make the marriage work for both of them?

“So, um, I’m going to be pretty busy the next few days organizing this traveling festival . . . but I was hoping you’d be there when it starts,” Kuroo admits. “I’m giving the staff the week off to either enjoy the festival with everyone or stay home and relax, but . . . I’d like you to be at the festival with me. At least . . . I mean, you won’t be able to be there _with_ me, but . . . I was hoping I’d be able to get away at some point to maybe meet your parents?”

This does cause Kenma to lift his head, frowning slightly. “You want to meet my parents?”

Kuroo nods, glad for Kenma’s attention finally. “Yeah! I mean, if that’s all right with you?” He watches Kenma’s face closely, looking for any sign of discomfort or hesitation.

As if sensing what he’s trying to do, Kenma ducks his head, hiding behind his hair. “I guess so.”

“Is everything all right?” Kuroo asks, unable to keep pretending like he hasn’t noticed something’s off. “You were gone this morning when I woke up, and now you’re acting like I did something to offend you. Did I?”

Kenma shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it.”

“You know me. You know I’m going to worry,” Kuroo says, already worrying. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” Kenma’s voice sounds strained, though, and his grip on the book tightens.

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“I’m not.”

“Kenma.” Kuroo feels himself on the verge of snapping. He presses his lips together, watching as Kenma curls further into himself, scrunching down against the wall, knees to his chest, book propped against them. “If something’s wrong, you can tell me. I’m not going to get mad at you.”

Kenma doesn’t respond. His bare feet press together, big toes wiggling against each other. Kuroo waits, doing his best to be patient. Slowly, Kenma sits up. He crosses his legs, laying the book down against them. He stares down at it without really seeming to see it. Kuroo has no idea what his expression means, and it makes him nervous. Anxiety begins to curl through his stomach and up his chest like a snake coiling around its prey, threatening to constrict.

“What do you want from me?” Kenma asks softly.

Kuroo blinks. _This question again?_

“Nothing,” he says, shaking his head.

Kenma lifts his, frowning at him. “Really? Are you sure?”

Kuroo stares back at him, having no idea what he’s supposed to say. “I-I . . .”

“You call me to your room, you spend time with me, you ask me to strip for you, you say you feel safe with me, that you’re in love with me, you kiss me back, you spend the night with me . . .” Kenma lists the things off on his hands, meeting Kuroo’s gaze squarely. “You say you don’t have any expectations or that you don’t want anything from me, but that’s not true is it? You do want something. So, what is it?”

Kuroo swallows hard. The snake has started to constrict, cutting off his air. He feels dizzy. “I-I don’t . . .”

Kenma turns his face away, staring off toward the door, as his hands fall onto the book in his lap. “It’s fine if you just want me to be a distraction, or someone you go to for comfort because you have no one else, but I want to know. What kind of role do you want me to play, here?”

“Y-you’re not just a distraction,” Kuroo says hoarsely. “You’re . . . my friend.”

Kenma inhales sharply. He glances sidelong at Kuroo from behind his hair. “Your friend.”

Kuroo gestures helplessly to the side. “I mean, yeah. Aren’t you?”

“I’m your servant,” Kenma says flatly. “Servants aren’t friends with their masters.”

Kuroo winces. “Don’t . . . say it like that. You’re more than just a servant to me. You have been ever since we’ve met. I’ve _told_ you that.” They’ve had this conversation before, haven’t they? Kenma keeps demanding to know what Kuroo wants, but he can’t say it, because he can’t _have_ it. What doesn’t he understand about that?

“So . . . fine. We’re friends. Is that all you want from me? To be your friend?”

“That’s . . . all I can ask of you,” Kuroo says softly.

“No. It’s not.”

“Yes, it is, Kenma,” Kuroo says, reaching up to run a hand through his hair agitatedly. He sighs. “We keep going around in circles on this.”

“Then stop circling. You’re the _king_. If you want more, you can have more. If you want to ask for more, then _ask for more_.”

“It’s not that simple!”

“It is, you’re just too scared to see it.” Kenma says, and his eyes are burning pools of gold, as he whips his head around to glare at Kuroo.

Kuroo recoils. The glare and the words combined pierce his chest, directly into the head of the snake wrapped around it. It falls away, deflating, and although he can breathe again, it hurts. Everything hurts.

“You’re right,” he says quietly, turning his gaze to the floor. “I am scared.” With another sigh, he drops his head into his hands, elbows on his knees. “I’m scared of the consequences, of disappointing everyone, of losing my people’s respect because of my selfishness. I’ve been struggling with this since before I even met you. So just . . . please. Give me time. Be patient with me. I promise I’m working on it.”

Kenma doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then Kuroo hears rustling, the thud of a book against the floor, and then footsteps drawing near. He sees Kenma’s bare feet cross into his line of vision, and then the feel of his hand, resting lightly against the back of his head.

“If you want me to wait for you, I will,” Kenma says, all the earlier frustration gone from his voice. There’s a hint of apology there too, hidden beneath his words. “I just . . . need to know that’s what you want.”

Kuroo swallows hard, tears burning the corners of his eyes. “It’s selfish of me to ask that of you when I have no idea when the fear will leave.”

Kenma’s fingers stroke through his hair gently. “You can be selfish with me,” he says after a moment.

Kuroo squeezes his eyes shut. His hands tremble, as he reaches forward to take Kenma’s hips in them, pressing the top of his head into his soft stomach.

“I wish I’d met you earlier,” he admits, barely above a whisper. His voice catches on the sob that sits in his throat. “Before my father died. Before things got so complicated.”

Kenma continues to stroke his hair, silent. Kuroo grips his hips tighter, curling his fingers into the fabric of his habajugan, as he tries to stifle the next sob that threatens to escape. He has to be stronger than this. He can’t afford to fall apart right now. Besides, good things are happening, too. He has a festival to prepare, and Hitoka won’t hate him for marrying her. Kenma’s not mad at him, is willing to be patient with him, despite the fact Kuroo doesn’t feel like he deserves it.

So why does he feel despair slipping through the cracks in his heart?

“Please,” he gasps out. “Please, wait for me.”

Kenma places his hands on either side of Kuroo’s head, bending to rest his forehead against the back of his neck. When he sighs, his warm breath caresses Kuroo’s skin, causing him to shiver.

“I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> couldn't help myself with the _Hadestown_ reference at the end there~
> 
> https://shions-heart.tumblr.com/


	7. We Can Never Meet Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a long one! creepy daishou's in this one, too

sometimes in my darkest thoughts, i wish i'd never learned  
what it is to be in love and have that love returned.

\-- elton john, _aida_, "written in the stars"

* * *

The palace bustles with activity, as everyone prepares for the traveling festival. Kuroo invites citizens of Karasuno to participate too, and they start arriving in droves to set up their own booths. Naoi coordinates with some Karasuno chefs to make various festival foods combining the two cultures, and Akane organizes a list of performances that includes both kingdoms’ musicians and dancers. It seems like Kuroo can’t walk around a corner without running into some kind of rehearsal, and the entire palace fills with a cacophony of voices and instruments.

Sawamura sends word that they’ve started work on Hitoka’s house. He seems impressed by Kuroo’s idea and grateful to have his young sister close-by still. He even challenges Kuroo to a rematch of their favorite festival game once they reach Karasuno.

Morisuke’s more stressed than usual, running back and forth trying to keep people out of the throne room and the royal family’s chambers, while putting together a feasible schedule for the festival. Kuroo often hears him muttering to himself about what booths should be set up in which district, which performance should be shown in which city square, the order in which the performances should take place, and what the grand finale should be. Nobuyuki tries to help as best he can, but Morisuke just gets more frazzled by the extra suggestions, so he eventually gives up.

Lev and Taketora catch onto the excitement easily. They’re bursting to participate and after watching them nearly vibrate out of their zōri, Kuroo gives them the time off to do so. With so many people around, he doubts his life will be in danger.

Or so he thinks.

Three days into the preparations, a familiar and insidious odor wafts through Kuroo’s bedroom door. He stands from his desk where he’s been finalizing the list of families who will need to relocate, watching the door warily, as it slides open. Immediately, his hand goes to the closest heavy object (a book), as Daishou Suguru steps into the room.

“What the hell are you doing here, Daishou?” he asks, holding the book aloft. “How did you even get _in_ here?”

Daishou grins. “I walked in the front door, funnily enough. You should tighten your security. With all the chaos, nobody gave me a second glance.” He runs a hand primly over his slicked back green-tinted hair. The emerald in his ring that marks him as king glitters in the sunlight coming through the window. The kimono he’s wearing is also green; green and black and patterned to look like a snake’s skin.

“That doesn’t answer my first question,” Kuroo says tightly, thinking at least Daishou doesn’t appear to be armed. He lowers the book to his side.

“I came to congratulate you on your nuptials,” Daishou says, holding his hands out to the side, still smiling that devious grin. “I must admit, I’m hurt you didn’t invite me.” He presses his hand against his chest.

“You’ve been hounding our border all year. Of course I didn’t fucking invite you,” Kuroo snaps.

“So hostile! And here I came here, unarmed, as a gesture of good will.” He folds his hands behind his back. “I’m withdrawing my troops from your border. I see you’ve made yourself a strong alliance, and I’m not suicidal. I do wonder, though, if you will allow me just a sliver of your kingdom in the north. I’ve been trying to open a trade route with Shiratorizawa, but the bastard owls won’t let me go through their territory to get there. Yours is the only other option.”

Kuroo flings his arms out to the side. “Why didn’t you just come to me in the first place with that? Why have your men camp out on our borders all passive-aggressive? You’re such a fucking creep, you know that?”

Daishou purses his lips, taking a step closer. “Would you have even allowed me an audience if I came to you first? You’ve always hated me, even back before we were the leaders of our counties.”

“Yeah, because you’re a fucking creep, like I said.”

Daishou clicks his tongue against his teeth, annoyed. He crosses over to Kuroo swiftly, causing Kuroo to back up, the desk rattling as his ass knocks against it. He grabs it for support, leaning away from Daishou, even as the other grabs his jaw to hold his face in place. His hand is cold and dry, not unlike a snake.

“You want to see a creep? Shall I demonstrate what a creep truly is?” he hisses, his face uncomfortably close to Kuroo’s. He tilts it to the side, appraising Kuroo’s features with a look Kuroo remembers from his teen years, back when Nohebi was still invited to attend their festivals. It sends an involuntary shiver down his spine, and he reaches for the book he set down earlier, as Daishou’s other hand settles on his hip, pressing him further against the wood of his desk, his thigh sliding between Kuroo’s legs.

“I swear I’ll ram this book through your skull if you don’t back away. I don’t care if you’re a king now,” Kuroo warns, lifting the book.

Daishou’s eyes flicker toward it, and he makes a face. “You never were any fun,” he says, running his thumb along Kuroo’s lower lip before releasing his jaw. His hand remains on Kuroo’s hip, however, keeping him pinned against the desk, as he’s still standing much too close. He lifts his thigh just slightly, pressing against Kuroo’s groin, causing him to hiss. “Though there was that one time . . .”

“I’m plenty of fun,” Kuroo cuts him off, gritting his teeth in a smile. “Just don’t like to play with assholes who’ll do anything to get ahead, even fuck over their own friends.”

Daishou rolls his eyes, hand starting to stroke his hip and down to his thigh before sliding it back up. “Are you still sore about me winning that stupid little competition against you and Sawamura?”

“You _poisoned_ his water. He could’ve died!”

“Oh please, it was hardly enough to kill him. Honestly, you both took that way too seriously. And it was years ago. He’s fine. Get over it.”

“I would, if you’d changed at all since then.”

Daishou grins. “Now, where’s the fun in that?” His free hand moves through Kuroo’s hair, gripping the strands and forcing Kuroo’s head back. Kuroo tightens his grip on the book, as Daishou’s eyes roam down his neck to his chest and further down with a predatory gaze, sending heat through Kuroo despite himself. “Pity you had to marry the Karasuno wench. Perhaps we could’ve come to a similar arrangement and avoided all this nasty border business.”

Kuroo sets the edge of the book on Daishou’s shoulder, forcefully pushing him back with it. Daishou releases his hair and takes a step back, but he still doesn’t move his hand from Kuroo’s hip. Kuroo sets down the book, reaching down with his other hand to grab Daishou’s, peeling his fingers off of him. “Didn’t some poor girl marry you a few years ago?” he asks skeptically.

“Yes, I have a wife, and she’s the love of my life,” Daishou says with a smile, flipping his hand around to take Kuroo’s. He lifts it to his lips, kissing the back of it with a smirk. “But Nohebi law allows me one of each.”

“Over my fucking dead body, Daishou.” Kuroo yanks his hand away, stepping to the side with a look of disgust, finally putting some distance between them, grabbing his desk chair to set that between them, as well. His fundoshi feels somewhat tight, but he tries his best to ignore that, grateful for the layers of his kimono.

Daishou holds both hands up in a placating gesture. “Fine, fine. I can take a hint.”

Kuroo snorts. “Since when?”

Daishou gives him a look. “The past is in the past. We’re both adults now, with the responsibilities that come with that. You may still hate me and think I’m horrible, but I care about my people, believe it or not. Opening a trade route will increase our wealth and allow more opportunities for private businesses. So, will you let us cut through your territory or not?”

“I’ll have to think about it,” Kuroo says tightly. “Talk it over with my advisors.”

Daishou inclines his head, taking another step back. “Very well. I’ll leave you to your festivities, then.”

He turns toward the door. Kuroo watches him, more than suspicious of everything that just occurred. He doesn’t trust Daishou, especially one that sneaks into his palace unarmed, with no apparent guard, and comes onto him like Kuroo didn’t always reject that shit when they were teens (ninety-nine percent of the time, at least). Is he serious about that proposal? What is he trying to pull here? Is this really just all about a trade route? Or is something more nefarious going on, like there always is with Daishou?

“Hey!” he calls before Daishou can slide open the door.

Daishou pauses, glancing over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow. “Yes?”

“Is this a trick?”

Daishou grins slowly. “Do you think I’d tell you if it was?”

“Probably not, but I thought I’d ask anyway. Give you a chance to be a decent person for once.”

“No trick,” Daishou says, placing his hand over his heart once more. “Like you, I just want what’s best for my people. Starting a war isn’t something that’s on my agenda.”

“Just threatening one is,” Kuroo says flatly.

Daishou sticks his tongue out of the side of his mouth, a signature move from their youth. “What can I say? You’re cute when you get flustered.”

Kuroo has no idea what kind of face he’s making, but Daishou laughs as he leaves. Gritting his teeth, Kuroo hurries forward, flinging open his door again to check the corridor. He sees no sign of Daishou or any of his Nohebi guards. That doesn’t make him feel any less on edge, but at least he doesn’t have to worry about an assassination attempt. Probably.

“You better not stay for the festival!” he calls into the empty air.

Far away, he thinks he hears Daishou’s laugh again. Shuddering, he leans back, shutting the door and pushing away uncomfortable memories from his teenage years. The fact that Daishou’s the one that made him realize he likes men never sits well with him, especially considering everything that’s happened since then with the guy.

Still, if a trade route is really all that he’s after, maybe Kuroo can make that happen. Maybe. The citizens of Nohebi shouldn’t have to suffer just because their king is a dick. Crossing back over to his desk, Kuroo gathers together the papers there, looking over his list one last time.

It’s no use. All he can think about is what kind of woman would willingly marry a man like Daishou. Maybe he’s different around her, though. Shaking his head, Kuroo clears his thoughts and picks up his list, folding the paper and slipping it into one of the inner pockets of his kimono.

First things first. He has to make sure the relocation announcements go smoothly, then it’s time for the festival. He doesn’t have time to worry about Daishou right now. He can wait a few days.

As he suspected, not all of the families take the news well. Even when Kuroo explains that Hitoka will be there to help them and oversee their transition, they push back, asking why they have to leave and not their neighbor. Kuroo assures them that the choices were completely random and tells them about the traveling festival that will escort them out of the city and into Karasuno. This, at least, seems to ease some of the complaints, and by the time he and Morisuke return to the palace, he doesn’t feel like that went too poorly.

“Nekoma is full of really great people, huh?” Kuroo can’t help but brag, hands on his hips, as he watches the final festival preparations take place outside the palace.

Morisuke nudges him gently. “They have a great leader.”

Kuroo smiles sheepishly, he doesn’t want to brag, but after the success of the day (even with the minor Daishou hiccup), he feels energized and good about himself, for once. “Let’s hope that’s still true after all this is over.”

The festival begins at dawn on the fourth day. With the current schedule, taking into account the time needed to camp for the night, it’ll take them all a week to get to Hitoka’s house and the new land in Karasuno. Kuroo hasn’t camped outside since he was a child. He can’t help but feel giddy at the prospect, wondering if Kenma will want to stay with him in his tent, before remembering he should probably share his tent with his wife.

Still, maybe Kenma can set up next to him, that way it won’t seem suspicious when they retire for the night at the same time in the same area.

The ground shakes with the stomping of feet and the excited claps and cheers that greet him and Hitoka, as they exit the palace and wave at those gathered. It’s a staggering amount of people, and Kuroo can’t help but worry they haven’t prepared enough food. But then he feels Hitoka’s hand on his arm, and he remembers that the booths will sell their own food, as well, with the palace kitchen’s spread to use for backup in case anyone can’t afford the booth food.

Kids of all ages run back and forth in the streets, chasing each other, stopping by various competition booths to exclaim at all the prizes, trying to win them, before zooming off to the next game. There are couples milling about, heads leaned in close as they speak in hushed tones, and all around are vivid colors and dynamic shapes and music and laughter. Kuroo’s heart feels full. Nekoma’s thrown festivals before, but never something like this: a celebration of both Nekoma and Karasuno. There are red, black, and white motifs, as well as orange, black, and white ones, the colors not clashing as terribly as Kuroo first worried.

Friends of Hitoka’s from Karasuno push their way through the crowd, crying out to her. Kuroo pauses, as he sees a shock of bright orange hair bouncing up and down from behind a few couples, the young man waving a hand over his head.

“Hitoka-chan! Hitoka-chan! We’re here!”

“Shouyou-kun!” Hitoka’s face lights up when she sees him. She takes a step forward before turning toward Kuroo. “Um. May I . . .?”

Kuroo grins. “You don’t have to ask for permission,” he says, shaking his head. “Go ahead. This is as much for you as it is for the people.”

“Thank you,” Hitoka says with a bow and a smile before hurrying off toward the spot of orange. The couples part for her, bowing respectfully, and she pauses in surprise, bowing back rapidly before continuing forward to grab this “Shouyou” by the hands. A tall young man with dark hair stands directly behind him, and she greets him just as warmly.

“Is that your new husband?” Shouyou peers over Hitoka’s shoulder at Kuroo. “Gwaaah he looks scary!”

“No, no, he’s really very nice,” Hitoka insists, glancing over at Kuroo with an apologetic look.

He waves off her concern. “It’s fine. Go have fun. I trust you won’t let anything happen to her.” He glances over at Tsukishima and Yamaguchi.

“Of course not,” Tsukishima says flatly, sounding almost offended.

“Don’t worry, heika, we know how to do our jobs,” Yamaguchi says, and Kuroo’s impressed by his courage to say such a thing to his face, despite knowing he probably didn’t mean it to sound sarcastic.

“Yes, good,” he says with a faint grin. “I suppose I’ll see you later, then.”

He barely gets the words out before the group has disappeared into the crowd. Kuroo slides his hands into the sleeves of his kimono, glancing around the crowd and wondering absently what Sawamura’s like these days. Has he changed much since their teen years? How difficult will the rematch be, now that they’re both adults? He can’t help but look forward to it.

Wandering down the street, he looks over the various booths, smelling the savory scent of meats on the wind. His stomach growls in response, and he’s considering which booth to visit when he senses a new presence at his elbow. Glancing down, he feels his heartbeat quicken at the sight of Kenma.

“Uh, hi,” he says softly, knowing it’s an inadequate greeting but not sure what else to say. He hasn’t seen the servant since their encounter in Kenma’s room the day after the wedding. With everything that’s happened, with preparing the list for the relocation and planning the festival, he’s barely had time for anything else.

Kenma’s not wearing his white servant yukata. Instead, he’s in one that’s a deep blue with thin white stripes, a black obi tied around his hips. It’s strange, seeing him in different clothing, but it’s nice, as well. He doesn’t feel the divide between them as keenly when they’re both dressed like normal people.

Reaching up, Kenma tugs on the edge of Kuroo’s sleeve, tilting his head in the direction of a side-street nearby. At Kuroo’s blank look, he huffs softly.

“My house. It’s this way,” he says.

“Oh!” Kuroo remembers with a flush of heat to his face. Turning toward Taketora and Lev, he gives them a wave. “I’m going to Kenma’s place for a bit. You can follow us there and then go back to join the festival. Have fun, play some games, then come back in a couple hours. Got it?”

“Yes, heika! Thank you!” Taketora and Lev exclaim in unison, expressions brightening. Kuroo knew they feared being stuck on security detail the entire time. He doesn’t think they deserve that. They’ve proven themselves many times over during this past year. They could use some fun.

Kenma tugs on his sleeve again, and this time Kuroo moves with it, following Kenma through the crowd, past several booths, and into the side-street he’d indicated. They leave the colorful lights and sounds of the festival behind, and the buildings seem to grow duller, the streets eerily empty and quiet. Kuroo knows it’s just because nearly everyone’s at the festival, but it still sends an unpleasant shiver down his spine, especially once they cross over into the poorer districts.

He can see how run-down the houses and businesses are, repairs needed but left unattended due to lack of time and resources. This is part of the reason why he wanted to merge with Karasuno in the first place. With a portion of the middle-class families moving out, more opportunities will open up for those in the poor districts to set up shop or get new jobs. They’re more than welcome to transfer to Karasuno as well, if they so choose and have the means to do so. Kuroo hopes they consider it, not wanting any of his people to suffer.

The Kozumes’ storefront is a tiny building near the corner of the street. Above it sits their abode. There’s a small balcony that extends over the front of the store, and the sliding doors that lead to it are open. From inside, Kuroo can hear the faint sound of music. Turning toward Taketora and Lev, he gives them a nod.

“You can go back to the festival now. Remember, two hours.”

“Yes, sir, heika, sir!”

They take off back the way they came, Taketora already yelling that he’ll destroy Lev in the archery games. Chuckling, Kuroo turns back to Kenma, but he’s already heading up the stairs that lay against the side of the building, leading up to a door. Kuroo lifts the skirt of his kimono to hurry after him.

“Do they even know I’m coming?” he asks, gripping the railing as he climbs the steps.

“I mentioned it,” Kenma says without inflection, opening the door before Kuroo can even figure out how he’s going to greet these people.

“I’m home,” Kenma calls, stepping out of his geta, kicking them away from in front of the door.

Kuroo peers in cautiously before stepping up behind him to do the same. The interior of the house is basically a large room, not much larger than his bedroom back at the palace. There’s a rug and a short table in front of the open balcony doors, with four worn cushions around it, two on either side. Against the wall is a bookshelf with a shrine on top, a few books and scrolls on the shelves beneath it. A shōji partition divides the room in half, and he can’t tell what’s beyond it, but that’s where the music is coming from. It stops after Kenma speaks, and an older woman with gray streaks in her dark hair steps out from behind it, wearing a faded pink yukata with a red obi.

“Kenma! Welcome home,” she greets with a smile, stepping forward to greet him with a hug.

“Is that Kenma?” another voice asks, before an older man with graying hair and crows-feet wrinkles around his eyes peers around the partition. He steps out afterwards, dressed in a black and white yukata with a white obi. He walks over to embrace his wife and Kenma both with a smile.

Kuroo carefully shuts the door behind him, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible to not interrupt the reunion. When the wood clicks into place, however, both Kozumes look up and regard him with shock and awe.

“H-Heika!” the man exclaims, dropping to his knees immediately to prostrate himself in front of Kuroo. The woman follows suit. “It’s an honor to have your illustrious presence visit us in our humble home. Please forgive our rudeness, we did not recognize you at first.”

“No, please, it’s all right,” Kuroo says with a grimace, gesturing for them to stand. “There’s no need for that.”

He looks over at Kenma, but he’s turned his face away. Slowly, the Kozumes rise to their feet, clutching at each other and glancing between him and Kenma in surprise.

“Kenma . . . why did you not tell us the king was going to visit? I would’ve put on nicer clothes,” his mother laments, pressing her hand to her cheek in dismay.

Kenma scuffs his toe against the floor. “I told you I was bringing a guest . . .”

“You could have mentioned it was the king!” the man sputters, as Kenma’s mother returns to her son’s side, clucking her tongue at the state of his hair, stroking her fingers through it.

“Your beautiful hair . . . did he make you do this?”

“What? No. I did it myself,” Kenma says, brushing her hand away with a flush.

“Is he causing you trouble? Has he done something wrong?” Kenma’s father asks, gripping the skirt of his yukata as he bows at the waist. “If he has, we will discipline him.”

“No, no one’s in trouble,” Kuroo says frantically, waving his hands in front of him and feeling like he’s losing ground quickly. “I’m sorry. I thought he told you I was coming. I’m . . . I’ve grown quite fond of Kenma as he’s been working for me, and I just . . . I wanted to meet his parents. Officially.” Inhaling deeply, he puts on his best smile, forcing away any anxiety as he steps forward with his hand outstretched. He’s not sure why he’s so nervous, but he is. He wants these people to like him. “I’m Kuroo Tetsurou. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

The Kozumes exchange a glance before the man steps forward hesitantly to take his hand, bowing over it.

“I’m Kozume Genki, and this is my wife, Hanako. We are honored that you are pleased with our son’s work.”

“Tea! I shall make some tea. Please, have a seat,” Hanako exclaims, gesturing to the table before bowing and hurrying behind the partition.

“Yes, please, sit,” Genki repeats, gesturing as well.

Kuroo wishes they wouldn’t act so nervous, as it’s just making _him_ more nervous. He goes over to sit on one of the cushions, Kenma taking a seat beside him, still not meeting any of his glances. Kuroo wonders if it’s possible he’s anxious about this meeting, as well. Genki sits across from them, smiling hesitantly.

“We heard about your marriage. Congratulations.”

“Oh. Yeah, thanks,” Kuroo says, rubbing the back of his neck, not entirely sure how to respond to that. “I . . . hope it’ll bring good things for the kingdom. The merger with Karasuno.”

Genki nods slowly. “My wife and I used to make trips into Karasuno often in our youth. It’s a fine kingdom full of kind people. We approved of your decision to join the kingdoms.” He flushes, then. “Not that you need our approval, of course! I just mean to say . . . we support you.”

“Thank you,” Kuroo says genuinely. “That means a lot to hear, actually.”

Genki smiles again, relieved. Hanako comes back out from behind the partition, carrying a tray with a teapot and several cups set on it, along with a plate of taiyaki. She sets the tray down on the table, before taking a seat next to her husband with a humble smile.

“We don’t have much, but I hope you enjoy it,” she says, rising on her knees to serve the tea before lowering back down.

“It smells amazing, thank you,” Kuroo says, warming his hands on the cup before raising it to his lips. It’s warm and somewhat tangy; delicious. The taiyaki is good too, filled with red bean paste.

“We cannot thank you enough for giving our Kenma a place to live and work in the palace,” Genki says, gratitude etched deep within his features. “I’m afraid we’ve been struggling for quite some time, with so many people spending what little they have on food other than clothes. The coin he sends to us has helped sustain us. Thank you.”

“It’s really nothing,” Kuroo says, feeling his cheeks warm, hating that they feel they have to thank him for such a thing. “I mean, Kenma works hard and does well. I even offered to give him a raise, but he refused since I couldn’t afford to give everyone one. Your son is a good man. I feel honored to know him.”

The Kozumes beam with pride, though Kenma doesn’t say anything beside him, simply hides behind his hair and drinks his tea. Kuroo scrambles to think of a safe topic of conversation.

“So, um, your store is for clothing. Did you make the yukata you’re wearing?”

They both nod. “Hanako made mine, and I made hers,” Genki says, giving his wife an adoring smile.

“They’re beautiful,” Kuroo offers. “I’ve been needing to order more yukata for my gardeners, and I was thinking of surprising all my staff with new yukata for the new year. If I commissioned you both, do you think you could have them done by then? I know it’s a big order, but I’m willing to pay however much it takes to get it done.”

Both of their eyes widen. “Yes! Yes, of course! We’d be honored to take on such an important commission!” Hanako exclaims, clasping her hands over her cheeks.

“Thank you very much!” they both say, then, bowing low enough for their foreheads to touch the tabletop.

Kuroo flushes. “Ah, you’re welcome. I look forward to seeing more of your work. Thank you for your willingness to take it on.”

Kenma’s looking at him, now. Kuroo can feel his gaze, see a glimpse of one large golden eye out of the corner of his own. Kuroo hopes he doesn’t think he offered his parents this job just because of him. He genuinely thinks their work is good, if their own clothing is any indication. The royal dressmakers might be somewhat put out, but it’s not as though they don’t get plenty of orders from the nobles.

Plus, it feels good to be able to give back in some way. These are the people who raised the young man next to him; someone who Kuroo considers one of the most important people in his life. He can’t thank them enough for that.

The Kozumes seem to get over their anxiety after that, and the rest of tea is spent swapping childhood stories. Kenma looks pained whenever the topic goes to him and how small and clumsy he was as a child, but Kuroo thinks the stories are endearing. He’s more than willing to share his own embarrassing tales, mentioning how shy and awkward he was as a kid, and he feels gratified whenever a story makes Kenma’s lips curl in a smile.

Hanako asks Kenma to help her clear away everything and clean up the kitchen once they’re done, and Genki invites Kuroo to step out onto the balcony with him, as he smokes his pipe. He offers one to Kuroo, but he declines. Resting his arms on the railing, he looks out over the city, able to see some of the colorful banners of the festival from here.

“Heika . . . if I may speak frankly,” Genki says quietly after a moment.

Kuroo turns toward him curiously. “Please,” he says, gesturing for the man to continue.

Genki takes a couple puffs off his pipe, blowing out smoke in rings. He watches them float away, lips tightening. Kuroo feels a pit of dread grow in his stomach, getting the feeling this isn’t going to be a light conversation.

“Kenma sends us letters with the money, updating us on how he’s doing. He’s not always very detailed, you know how he is, but . . . lately the letters have mentioned you quite a bit.”

The dread doesn’t alleviate, but Kuroo can’t help but feel warmth trickle into his chest. “They have?”

Genki nods, taking another drag off his pipe. Silence lingers, as he exhales slowly, eyes remaining on the smoke as it drifts away. “He doesn’t express himself often; he went through a few things in his youth that have unfortunately caused him to keep his true feelings hidden, unless he feels safe enough to reveal them. So, I don’t know if you realize this, but he has feelings for you. I believe they’re quite strong. I believe . . . he may be in love with you.”

Kuroo blinks, staring at the older man in disbelief. He isn’t . . . surprised, necessarily. He knows Kenma feels _something_ toward him. He kissed him first, after all. He promised he’d wait for Kuroo. He cares, obviously. And there’s probably attraction there too, considering. But . . . love? Does he actually _love_ Kuroo?

The implications of this swirl through his brain like a tornado, loud and chaotic, tearing through every interaction they’ve had, rearranging the events to make this new information fit. He finds himself going over every conversation, every touch, every look . . . Could he have missed something vital? A word, an action, a glance, something that could have alerted him to Kenma’s true feelings sooner?

He’s pulled from the chaos of his mind when Genki takes his hand suddenly, pressing it against his forehead, as he bends forward in a deep bow.

“Forgive me for being so forward,” he says softly. “But you are a king, and my son is just a servant. Please, do not give him false hope. You may care for him, but you and I both know the responsibilities you have. You married the Karasuno princess. You’re the leader of an entire country, and we are but humble citizens, barely more than peasants. He cannot have you. So please, please leave him be. I do not want to see my son’s precious heart break.”

Kuroo stares down at the man, the lump of dread in his stomach rising up to lodge in his throat. He swallows against the pressure as best he can. All the warmth has dissipated, leaving behind an aching hole.

“I . . . I don’t want that either,” he admits, his voice sounding small in his own ears.

“What’s going on?”

Kenma’s voice from the doorway startles them both. Genki lifts his head, releasing Kuroo’s hand to turn toward his son with a smile.

“Nothing,” he says gently. “I was just thanking Kuroo-sama once more for gracing us with his presence.”

Kenma seems skeptical, but Kuroo can’t bring himself to admit the truth. He takes a step back.

“I should go,” he says, feeling somewhat like he’s floundering in the middle of the ocean with no land or ship in sight. To first be told Kenma may love him back and then be asked to reject that love for the sake of Kenma’s long-term happiness . . . it’s left him tilted off-balance. He knows his request for Kenma’s patience was a selfish one, he admitted to it. Kenma told him he could be selfish with him, but when faced with his father’s plea . . . can Kuroo really do that?

“The festival’s only just started . . . it’s a long way to Karasuno on foot.” He bows toward Genki, and then again toward Hanako. “Thank you so much for your hospitality. The tea and taiyaki were delicious. I’ll send you the details for the commission once my queen is settled at her place in Karasuno.”

“Thank you for your faith in us to complete it,” Hanako says with a bow of her own.

Kuroo slips his geta back on before leaving hurriedly.

He reaches the end of the stairs when the door opens once more and Kenma makes his way after him.

“You should stay,” Kuroo says, not looking at him, as he draws closer.

Kenma stops, a few steps from the ground, elevated from Kuroo still. “What?”

“I need to stay with Hitoka during the rest of the festival. Showcase our unity. I can’t be seen spending time with a servant.”

He senses the way Kenma stiffens. He hates it. He hates himself for saying it, despite knowing that he has to.

“Did my father say something to you?” Kenma demands, anger lacing his tone.

“Nothing I shouldn’t have already known,” Kuroo says, with a tiny, self-deprecating smile, staring at the dust at his feet.

“Kuroo.” Kenma takes a step down.

Kuroo steps away. “I have to go. I’m sorry, Kenma.”

“So that’s it? You’re giving up completely?” Kenma asks flatly.

Kuroo winces at his tone. He feels like the worst person in the world. But this is what he needs to do, isn’t it? This isn’t just about what others will think of him. It’s about Kenma, too. He deserves more than to be the secret lover of a king too cowardly to bring their relationship to light. Kuroo will have to pretend to not know him as intimately as he does, will have to turn away from him in the corridors of the palace, will have to leave him behind when he travels to Karasuno to visit Hitoka.

How much of that will Kenma be able to bear before the wounds start to show? Kuroo doesn’t want to find out.

“It’s for the best. You’ll see that eventually.”

“Don’t fucking condescend to me,” Kenma snaps. He takes another step down the stairs. “Look at me.”

Kuroo bites his lip, keeping his eyes on the ground. He doesn’t want to see what expression Kenma’s making. He’s not sure he’ll be able to go through with this if he does. Already the hole inside him has widened, spreading throughout his chest, the cold emptiness seeping into his bones.

“_Look_ at me!” Kenma’s fingers grab at his kimono, but Kuroo pulls away.

“I have to go.”

He turns his back on Kenma, tasting blood, as his teeth pierce his lip.

“Fuck you.” Kenma’s voice trembles, the single phrase holding more vicious contempt and pain than Kuroo can stand.

He walks away.

“Fuck you!” Kenma yells after him. “I never want to see you again! Ever!”

The emptiness expands around him and swallows him whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this was kinda . . . mean.
> 
> i promise it gets better. this is the last of the heavy angst. they _will_ have a happy ending!
> 
> https://shions-heart.tumblr.com/


	8. Fortune Favors the Brave

there'd be no ties of time and space to bind us,  
and no horizon we could not pursue.  
we'd leave the world's misfortunes far behind us,  
and i will put my faith and trust in you.

\-- elton john, _aida_, "enchantment passing through (reprise)"

* * *

Maybe it should be more difficult to pretend everything’s fine, but Kuroo’s had plenty of practice. He makes his way back to the festival, finds Taketora and Lev, locates his wife and her friends, and smiles and laughs and joins in the revelry like nothing’s wrong. Meanwhile, his heart feels like a lump of coal: dead, unlit, cold.

He knows it’s his own fault. He shouldn’t have let things go so far, especially since he knew from the beginning he was playing with fire. Well, now everything inside him has been burned away, leaving nothing behind.

Luckily, nobody seems to notice. Morisuke and Nobuyuki join them the second day of the festival, which thoroughly distracts Lev, who tries to impress Morisuke by winning every game (though he barely manages to score more than half the time), and Taketora’s attention is divided when Akane and Alisa show up. Akane’s eager to have her brother show off for the beautiful Alisa, though he’s often too nervous to do well. Hitoka’s friends decide to travel with them for the entire festival, and she seems to be enjoying herself, which is one bright spot in all of this.

Kuroo doesn’t even need to worry about the tent situation, because Akane and Alisa insist Hitoka has to stay with them so they can hear all about the Karasuno gossip. Morisuke and Nobuyuki end up crashing with him, and so his night is filled with Nobuyuki’s blanket hogging and Morisuke’s snores, which are surprisingly loud for his small frame.

By the time the festival reaches Karasuno, Kuroo’s exhausted. It takes so much effort to pretend like he’s having a great time, especially when he’s barely sleeping or eating. He can feel himself starting to wilt, but the crowd is bigger than ever, as each of the relocating families joined as the festival passed by their homes.

He’s expected to make a speech on the final day. He hasn’t written it, and he can’t really make himself care enough to even try. Each step, each gesture, feels like he’s dragging a mountain behind him. How is he supposed to inspire these people, when he can’t feel anything at all?

Sawamura makes good on his promise to come down and see him once they reach Karasuno. He’s flanked by a towering guard who looks intimidating but flinches every time a group nearby explodes into laughter, and a shorter guard with a shaved head who glares at anyone who gets too close to Sawamura and his plus one, with an expression that’s more ridiculous than scary.

Sawamura looks about the same, if even broader, a shadow of a beard gracing his strong jaw. He’s as handsome as ever, and Kuroo remembers how disappointed he was as a teen when he couldn’t pretend Sawamura was his lover to get Daishou to back off, because the other was way too smitten with . . .

“Kuroo! It’s so been so long! You remember Sugawara Koushi, don’t you?”

Kuroo smirks, bowing slightly to the man standing beside Sawamura. “Of course. It’s good to see you again.”

The man standing beside Sawamura is ridiculously beautiful, with silvery hair and a mole beneath his left eye. A nobleman’s son, Kuroo remembers teasing Sawamura relentlessly about his crush on Sugawara whenever they caught sight of the pretty boy in the Karasuno festival crowds. Now, he’s made good on that crush, which Kuroo observes as Sugawara steps closer to Sawamura and places his arm around his waist.

“The pleasure’s all mine,” Sugawara says with a smile. He tilts his head, his brown eyes sharp as they observe Kuroo. “Are you well, heika? You look rather pale and worn out.”

Sawamura frowns with concern, as he turns back to Kuroo. Hastily, Kuroo forces a laugh, waving his hand.

“Of course, of course. It’s just been a long six days. And we still have one more before we reach the land you’ve given us. Thank you again for being so generous,” he says, nodding to Sawamura.

The king’s expression relaxes into a smile. “Trust me, you’re doing us a favor. We don’t have nearly enough citizens to take care of all our land, and if it can benefit both kingdoms, I’m happy to give it.”

Sugawara’s still watching him with a look that seems much too perceptive, so Kuroo turns away, gesturing down the street. “Shall we join the party?”

They find Hitoka and her group, and she greets her half-brother with an excited hug. She leads him around by the hand, stealing him away and leaving Sugawara and Kuroo alone together, following along behind.

“It’s perhaps none of my business,” Sugawara starts, just as Kuroo knew he would. “But that look you have. I’ve seen it before.”

“Have you.” Kuroo doesn’t make it sound like a question. He’s not sure he wants to know.

Sugawara hums thoughtfully. “Yes. Daichi had it back when he was convinced we couldn’t be together. There’s no law that says a Karasuno king can’t marry another man, but there’s no law that says one can, either. So, he suffered greatly in his indecision, especially in regard to the possibility of leaving no heir. In the end, I helped him realize that who he marries wouldn’t affect the way he leads, because no matter what he’s a _good_ leader. We can figure out the heir thing, but what’s important is that he feels loved and supported by whoever he has at his side.”

Kuroo smiles grimly. “That’s great. I’m glad it worked out for you.”

Sugawara glances over at him sharply. “I’m not telling you this to rub your loss in your face. I’m mentioning it to encourage you. Perhaps there’s an angle to your situation that you haven’t yet considered.”

“Trust me. I’ve considered every angle. It’s kind of my thing.”

Sugawara taps the side of his nose as he winks. “Another perspective may still help,” he says lightly. He smiles, then, wide and dazzling, as he punches Kuroo’s side with enough strength to nearly bowl him over. “Give it some thought! I believe in you.”

“Thanks,” Kuroo wheezes, clutching his side. “I’ll try.”

“Suga!” Sawamura calls, waving above the crowd. “Come try this game. I think you’ll enjoy it!”

Sugawara gives Kuroo’s shoulder a pat before weaving through the various couples and families to rejoin Sawamura and the others. Kuroo watches, as the king wraps his arm around Sugawara’s waist and pulls him in close, kissing his cheek before explaining the rules of the game. Kuroo feels something, then, a familiar ache blooming in his chest.

How can he have that? What does he have to do?

He’s come up with no solution by the time the festival reaches Hitoka’s new house. It’s beautifully built: two stories with darkly stained wood for the exterior, pale pink sakura blossoms covering nearly every inch of the rice paper doors. Kuroo can’t really believe it was built in only a week and a half. Sawamura praises the man who oversaw the construction, who introduces himself as Ennoshita Chikara. He accepts the congratulations with a small smile, bowing to Hitoka and expressing gratitude at being chosen for the project.

“It’s wonderful. I love it so much,” Hitoka gasps, hand to her face.

“Let’s go explore it!” Shouyou shouts, jumping over the porch steps in a single leap before darting inside.

“Dumbass Hinata, wait for us!” the tall black-haired one yells before following (Kuroo never did catch his name).

Hitoka turns toward him, eyes sparkling.

“Go on,” he tells her with a small smile. “I’ve got a speech to give.”

She hurries after the other two, Tsukishima and Yamaguchi following, along with the two handmaidens that joined them once they reached Karasuno. Kuroo watches them all go, then turns toward the crowd of Nekoma citizens gathered begore him. He swallows hard, looking at all of their faces and hoping he’s made the right decision.

Smiling, he holds his arms out to the side. “Thank you, all of you, for your willingness in this effort to bring more life and happiness to Nekoma. You are the blood of this body. The way you all flow without stopping, working tirelessly to keep the heart of Nekoma beating, its mind working. You are seen. You are appreciated. The lives you’ll build here will be the first step in Nekoma’s growth to become a stronger kingdom. Always remember, even though you are here in Karasuno, you are still Nekoma. We are united. One heart. One body.” He presses his hand against his heart, putting as much sincerity into his words as he can. “I’m proud to be your king. Thank you for this past year. I will do my best to keep carrying us forward ever higher into the years ahead.”

He bows, deeply, and the crowd erupts in applause. As he straightens, he catches sight of Morisuke and Nobuyuki at the front. Nobuyuki’s beaming, and Morisuke has tears streaming down his cheeks. The softie. Behind them, Taketora and Lev whoop and holler, pumping their fists into the air.

Instinctively, Kuroo looks for Kenma in the crowd before remembering. His smile slips, and Morisuke steps forward quickly, wiping the tears from his face, as he turns to face the crowd, lifting his hands in the air until they quiet down.

“Now, although construction has already started, it’ll take some time for your new homes to be complete, so in the meantime, citizens of Karasuno have agreed to house you. Every family should already know which household you’ve been assigned to, and you will be notified as soon as your houses is ready. The festival will continue until tonight, and then the king and his entourage will return to the palace in Karasuno. Thank you.”

The crowd applauds again, but Morisuke doesn’t linger to bask in it. Instead, he turns toward Kuroo, grabbing his arm and tilting his head toward the house behind them. “Let’s go inside.”

Kuroo allows Morisuke to lead him into the house. He can hear Shouyou’s loud exclamations of awe and wonder, as the group explores the upstairs. There’s an irori in the center of the room, with a circle of pillows around it. Morisuke leads him over to one of these, sitting down before tugging Kuroo down next to him. It’s oddly reminiscent of Kuroo’s wedding day, and he silently compares the situations. At least this time he’s not dying from panic.

“So. What the fuck?” Morisuke asks plainly, watching his face.

“Uh. What the fuck . . . what?” Kuroo stares back at him blankly.

“You know exactly what the fuck.” Morisuke gestures to his face. “What the fuck is up with you? You’ve been acting weird ever since the second day of the festival. You’re going through the motions, and maybe nobody else can tell, but I fucking _know_ you, Tetsurou. Since we were kids. You can’t hide shit from me.”

“You’re really nosy, you know that?”

“Yes, and?”

“Did you know Lev has a crush on you?”

“Stop avoiding the question,” Morisuke says, though his cheeks turn red, which is somewhat satisfying.

Kuroo sighs, falling back against the cushions to stare up at the ceiling. He can hear the muffled sounds of movement and voices through the wood, and he kind of hopes they’ll come downstairs and interrupt this heart-to-heart before Morisuke forces him to actually feel something. He knows whatever it is, it won’t be good.

“I ended things with Kenma,” he says, draping his arm over his face. “It’s something I should’ve done ages ago, I know. But . . . I selfishly thought that . . . maybe I could keep him after marrying Hitoka. I just had to figure out how it’d work and find enough courage to go through with it. Then I met his parents and his father told me that Kenma’s in love with me. He begged me to let him go because he didn’t want to see Kenma get hurt. He’s a peasant, I’m the king . . . it’s inevitable that he’ll get hurt. Because it’ll have to be a secret, and eventually that’ll wear him down. I know it will. It’ll wear us both down. I can’t do that to him. He doesn’t deserve it. He deserves someone who can be with him fully, wholly and completely.”

He laughs, a harsh, discordant sound. “But of course, ending things hurt him too. I knew it would, but I guess I figured it was better to do it now when nothing had really started than later after we’d built something between us. He told me he never wants to see me again.”

Morisuke sighs. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly after a moment.

“Me too,” Kuroo mutters, the ache returning. It carves into him, scrapes across his bones. He shudders with his next sigh, fighting back the tears that burn the corners of his eyes.

“Maybe . . .” Morisuke starts before he trails off.

Silence falls, broken only by the sounds upstairs. Kuroo grimaces, trying to think of a different topic, anything to get his mind off how much everything hurts.

“Daishou showed up in my room, the day before the festival.”

“He _what_?”

Kuroo has to chuckle at Morisuke’s reaction. “Yeah. He mentioned some things that I’ll have to talk to you and Nobuyuki about later when we get back to the palace, but really he could’ve just sent a letter. I think he came specifically to fuck with me. He got super handsy, like he used to be back during the festivals before Father got Nohebi banned from attending. Remember that?”

“Gross. Isn’t he _married_?”

“Yeah, but he said in Nohebi a king can have both . . .” Kuroo trails off, before sitting upright so quickly, he nearly smacks foreheads with Morisuke. “Holy shit!”

Morisuke veers away just in time. “What?!”

“Holy shit, they have both. Nohebi kings have both.” Kuroo turns to grab Morisuke’s shoulders, gripping them tightly. “I can do that. I can have both!”

“What are you talking about?” Morisuke asks, staring at him with wide eyes.

“I can’t believe I didn’t fucking think of it before. Nohebi’s the only kingdom to do it, but if there’s precedent, then people can’t really dispute it or call me unfaithful or untrustworthy or any of that!”

“Kuroo?” Morisuke’s looking at him like he thinks he’s lost his mind.

Maybe he has, but the revelation has him giddy, and he can’t stop to worry about perceptions right now. All the pain from before is gone in an instant, overpowered by the tingle of anticipation. “I’ll have to research it more thoroughly when I get back, but if I can change the law to say that a Nekoma king can have both a wife and a husband, then I have no reason to not be with Kenma. I can ask him to be my husband. It’s unconventional, probably, considering his class status, but nobody would be able to say shit, because he’d be my _husband_ and the law allows for it!”

“Wow,” Morisuke’s gaze grows distant, as he considers this. “That . . . might actually work.”

“I know it will!” Kuroo crows, jumping to his feet. “We need to get back to the palace. I need to get started on this.” He never thought he’d see the day when he’d actually be grateful to Daishou for something, but at this moment he could kiss the guy. Well, probably not kiss him; pat his back maybe, give him a firm handshake possibly, but definitely touch him willingly.

“It’s a day and a half journey back to the palace if we can get a horse and carriage,” Morisuke says, standing as well.

“Yes, go find one! I’ll tell Hitoka I’m leaving,” Kuroo says, brushing him off before running for the stairs.

“Lovestruck fool!” Morisuke calls after him.

Kuroo just laughs.

Upstairs, he finds Shouyou bouncing on the bed, and the black-haired one is opening and closing all the drawers in the dresser. Tsukishima seems to be grinding his teeth, and Yamaguchi is over by the balcony, exclaiming over the view. Hitoka’s laughing at Shouyou’s antics, and when she turns to see who’s entered, her smile lingers.

“Kuroo-san!” she exclaims. “The house is so lovely.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Kuroo grins back at her, before waving to the others. “Can we have the room, please?”

Shouyou jumps off the bed. “Hitoka-chan! Should I tell Shimizu-san that you’d like to see her?” he asks in a loud whisper, hiding his mouth behind his hand to no effect. “She’s been waiting and waiting but didn’t want to interrupt the festival.”

“Oh!” Hitoka’s cheeks go red, and Kuroo gets the feeling he knows who this “Shimizu-san” is. “Um, y-yes if she . . . I mean, if it’s okay . . .” She glances over at Kuroo.

He holds his arms out to the side. “Whoever you want to stay with you is fine by me,” he reminds her.

Hitoka straightens, resolve strengthening her features. She gives Shouyou a nod. “Yes, I’d like to see her.”

Shouyou grins and jumps on the black-haired guy’s back, much to the taller one’s annoyance. “Come on, Kageyama-kun~ Let’s go find Shimizu-san!”

“Get off me!” Kageyama grumbles, though he allows Shouyou to wrestle him out of the room.

Kuroo waits for Tsukishima and Yamaguchi to follow, but when they don’t, he figures they’ve been privy to nearly everything else and turns to face Hitoka.

“I’ve come up with a possible solution to my, uh, current predicament. I wanted to tell you, because while it won’t affect my arrangement with your brother, it’s a little . . . unconventional, and I don’t know what types of things people may say about me because of it.”

“Oh?” Hitoka tilts her head, looking up at him curiously.

“I, uh,” Kuroo rubs the back of his neck. “I’m going to add to the marriage laws of Nekoma to allow myself a husband as well as a wife. It’s something they do in Nohebi, no doubt to forge strong alliances with more than one country.”

Hitoka clasps her hands together. “Oh! So you’ll be able to have the one you love, too!”

“You don’t think that makes me seem unfaithful or untrustworthy?” Kuroo asks hesitantly, finding he truly does want her to think well of him.

Hitoka shakes her head, her eyes shining. “You’re giving me my own place, in my own country, to live with the one I love . . . you’ve made me so happy, Kuroo-san! I want that happiness for you, too. If anyone calls you untrustworthy because of it, I’ll . . . I’ll . . .” She hits her palm with her fist. “I’ll reprimand them! Strongly!”

Kuroo can’t help but laugh; she looks about as harmless as a kitten, but he’s gratified by her response. Taking her shoulders, he kisses her forehead gently. “You’re the best wife a man could ask for,” he says genuinely.

Hitoka blushes. “Will you be staying for the end of the festival?” she asks.

Kuroo shakes his head. “I need to get back and research this law to see how I can adapt it to ours. Then I need to find my, uh, the one I love . . . I left things rather poorly with him.”

“Oh, yes, yes, then go! I can oversee the end of the festival and make sure everyone gets home safely,” Hitoka assures him, waving him off. “Go! Go!”

Kuroo bows. “Thank you. I’ll see you.”

“Good luck!” Hitoka calls after him, as he races back down the stairs.

He nearly runs into a woman entering. She pauses, her gray eyes widening. Her dark hair is drawn up in an intricate style, and her kimono is a pale blue with pink flowers. There’s a beauty mark near her mouth. She’s gorgeous.

“Heika,” she says softly, bowing deeply. “Forgive me. I didn’t see you.”

“You must be Shimizu-san,” Kuroo smirks.

The woman seems surprised, straightening and lifting a hand to adjust her glasses. “Oh. Yes. Shimizu Kiyoko, heika.”

“She’s waiting for you upstairs,” Kuroo tells her, gesturing over his shoulder.

A faint blush colors Shimizu’s cheeks, which makes her look that much more beautiful. She gives him a curious look, hesitating.

“It’s all right. I hope the two of you are very happy together,” Kuroo assures her, bowing before stepping around her to exit the house.

Because he’s amazing, Morisuke already has a horse and carriage waiting. The crowd outside has dispersed, most returning to the festival, it seems. Nobuyuki stands beside Morisuke next to the carriage, with Lev and Taketora already fighting for the seat next to the driver.

“I love you so much, Mori,” Kuroo says gratefully, grabbing Morisuke’s hands in both of us. “Thank you for everything.”

Morisuke snatches his hands away, his face bright red. “Shut up, you big softie.” He shakes his head. “Get going before people start to notice you’re not sticking around.”

Kuroo grins, blowing both him and Nobuyuki a kiss as he gets into the carriage beside Taketora, who’s lost the front seat to Lev. “Travel back safely! I’ll see you in a few days!”

“Why the rush to the palace, heika?” Taketora asks curiously.

“I’ve got someone waiting for me there,” Kuroo says, hoping Kenma will see him despite what he said.

Taketora observes him with a side-long glance. “You’re really going to try and have Kozume too?”

“I’m not going to try. I’m going to make it happen,” Kuroo says confidently.

That confidence keeps him going during their journey back to Nekoma. Despite knowing Kenma must still be furious with him after only a week, Kuroo tells himself that once he explains everything, it’ll all work out.

It has to. There has to be a light at the end of this long tunnel, one that he’s been traversing ever since he was sixteen. If he can reach that light, then the darkness will have been worth it.

He goes straight to his room when the carriage pulls up at the palace a day and a half later. Taketora and Lev scramble to keep up, and Kuroo puts them to work scouring his many books for one on Nohebi’s laws. His well-read copy of Nekoma’s laws sits near his desk, and he opens it to the page on marriages, double-checking to make sure there’s nothing that will contradict his plan.

“Found it!” Taketora crows, and tosses it to Lev, who grabs it from the air to toss to Kuroo.

He catches it neatly, setting it beside the Nekoma book, opening it and flipping through until he finds the law he’s looking for. Reading through it swiftly, he sees it’s as he suspected: Nohebi kings can take both a wife and a husband, each one from a different country, in order to secure strong alliances between all three.

“Damn. Daishou’s proposal might’ve been serious, then,” Kuroo mutters, wrinkling his nose at the thought.

“When did Daishou-sama propose to you, heika?” Lev asks, ever curious.

“Er, let’s never mention that again,” Kuroo says, shaking his head. He turns to Taketora. “Make sure these books get to Morisuke as soon as he and Nobuyuki arrive. I want them working on drafting the new law right away.”

“Yes, heika!” Taketora says, bowing deeply.

“I have to go find Kenma,” Kuroo says, heading for the door, then.

He doesn’t wait to either of his guards to follow. He makes his way as swiftly as he can to the familiar courtyard of the servants’ quarters. The grass has grown significantly, and the flower bushes are making progress, as well. Kuroo doesn’t stop to take pride in this, though, but walks directly to Kenma’s door and knocks rapidly.

“Kenma? Kenma, are you there? I need to talk to you.”

There’s no response. Kuroo grimaces and tries again.

“Kenma? Please . . . I know you’re angry, but I-I found a solution to our problem. To my problem. Please, if you’re in there, open the door.”

The door beside Kenma’s slides open slowly, just enough for one dark eye to peer out at Kuroo from the shadowy interior. Kuroo nearly jumps out of his skin when he sees it, before he recognizes it.

“Fukunaga, right? Do you know where Kenma is?”

“Gone,” comes the short reply.

Kuroo feels his heart sink to the wooden soles of his zōri, his chest tightening in its absence, as a chill runs through him.

“What do you mean . . . gone?”

Fukunaga slides the door back enough to step outside. He turns to Kenma’s door, opening it to reveal the empty interior. Kuroo stares at the futon rolled up against the wall, the table and chair with the lantern set on top. There’s no sign of any of Kuroo’s books or Kenma’s clothes. It’s been swept and tidied, ready for the next servant to move in.

Kuroo hears an odd rushing in his ears; everything around him seems suddenly very far away. He’s been shoved back into the tunnel, looking down the long length of it, as despair curls around his ankles. “Wh-what’s going on? Where is he?”

“He quit, the first day of the festival.” Fukunaga’s voice barely reaches him. Kuroo has to make a conscious effort to hear him. “He said he’d help his parents with a big commission and then move to Karasuno.”

That snaps Kuroo back to the present. “He’s with his parents? Genki and Hanako?”

Fukunaga blinks at him. “Unless he has other parents.”

Kuroo takes off down the corridor, his zōri smacking against the stone with each step. He bypasses Taketora and Lev, ignoring their shouts of alarm. He continues past the garden, where Shibayama looks up and calls after him, asking if everything’s okay. He doesn’t stop to answer. Inuoka at the front gate starts in surprise when he appears but hastens to open the gate when Kuroo shouts ahead.

He tears through and into the city. There are still remnants of the festival visible; many of the citizens still in Karasuno. Banners hang low on their poles, and empty booths still stand advertising food and games and toys. Kuroo runs past all of these without a second glance, gaze fixed ahead.

Fear and adrenaline combine in his chest, making his heart pound much too quickly. He gasps for breath, even as he pushes past the pain that spreads through his tight lungs. He’s already wasted so much time! It’s been a week and nearly three days since the start of the festival. He has no idea how long it’ll take the Kozumes to complete his commission, but they must be well on their way by now. He had Morisuke pay them for the materials that same day he gave them the job. How much time does he have before Kenma’s gone forever?

He can’t wait and find out. He has to stop him now!

He can’t lose him, not after finding out he can actually have him.

There’s no time to stop and consider the possibility that Kenma will reject him. After all, Kuroo broke the young man’s heart. But if he stops to think about that, he’ll lose his nerve. He has to believe Kenma still loves him enough to at least hear him out.

_I’m such an idiot! Why didn’t I consider this solution sooner? I should’ve worked harder to find a way. I shouldn’t have let fear rule my actions._

There are lanterns lit inside the storefront. Kuroo skids to a stop, breathing hard. Inside the front windows, he can see multiple yukata and kimono on display, and hear the faint sound of music, like he had the first time he came here. As he takes a moment to catch his breath, he recognizes the instrument as a biwa, and after a few measures he hears a soft voice accompany it, lilting in a mesmerizing way, as it tells a tale of his father’s early years as king.

Kuroo finds himself leaning in the open doorway, listening as his heart slowly begins to return to its normal pace, his chest loosening around his lungs. Looking past the front room of the store, he can see Genki and Kenma bent over yards of fabric, cutting and sewing in the light of the lanterns hung above them, as Hanako sits off to the side, plucking the biwa and singing.

It’s such a nice, domestic scene, Kuroo feels bad interrupting. He takes a step back, but the floorboards creak under his shifting weight, and all three Kozumes look up. Hanako pauses her song, her eyes widening.

“Heika!” she gasps, bowing as best she can over her instrument. “We weren’t expecting you!”

“It’s all right, I’m actually here to talk to Kenma, if I may,” Kuroo says, nodding toward her son, who’s now facing away from him, hidden behind his hair.

“Yes, yes, of course,” Hanako says, waving her plectrum at Kenma. “Kenma! Go to the king!”

“No,” Kenma mutters, gaze fixed on the white fabric in his hands.

“Kenma,” Genki says sharply. “The king has come to speak to you. Do not disgrace us with your rudeness. Go to him!”

Kenma doesn’t move. Kuroo remains where he is in the doorway, waiting, heart working its way up into his throat. After what feels like hours have passed, Kenma sets aside his work and stands slowly. Stepping into the main area of the store, he stops a couple meters away from Kuroo, hands hidden within the sleeves of his dark red yukata, as he stares at the floor. His roots are coming in at the top of his head, creating a dark oval before fading into gold.

“I know you’re angry with me,” Kuroo says gently. “You have every right to be. I was a coward and a fool, and I hurt you.”

Kenma says nothing.

Kuroo hesitates, glancing over Kenma’s shoulder to where his parents are pretending not to eavesdrop. Well, he supposes they should know exactly what he feels for Kenma, considering Genki’s plea a week and a half ago. He doesn’t want there to be any misunderstandings.

Lowering to his knees, he presses his forehead to the floor in front of Kenma’s feet. He hears Hanako gasp, and Genki’s surprised “eh?!” but nothing from Kenma. Squeezing his eyes shut, he prays to any gods that are listening that he’s not too late.

“Please forgive me, Kenma. I love you. I’m in love with you. I shouldn’t have listened to my doubts, because it doesn’t matter that you’re a servant and I’m a king. When I’m with you, there is no divide. I’m just a man, in love with another man, an amazing and beautiful man who I don’t deserve but who I hope can forgive me, because I don’t want to live another second without this man in my life.”

Sitting back on his heels, Kuroo straightens and pulls the ring off his finger; the ring that was his father’s, and his father’s before him. The ring that symbolizes his place as king, as it holds the royal crest in its design. He’s not supposed to take it off or give it to anyone that isn’t family.

He lifts his head. Kenma’s staring back at him, eyes wide. When he sees the ring, his lips part, though no sound escapes. Kuroo gives him a small smile.

“I’ve studied the law, and there’s nothing that says I can’t amend it to give Nekoma’s king permission to have both a wife and a husband. Nohebi’s king does it, and I’ve decided that if there’s one good thing that can come from Nohebi, it’s this.” He slowly holds the ring out to Kenma. “I know we’ve only known each other a short time, but I’d love to spend the rest of my years getting to know you more. I know that my love for you will only grow as I do. Will you marry me?”

“Yes! Say yes!” Hanako calls out from her corner.

Kenma grows bright pink, though Kuroo can’t tell if that’s from his question or his mother’s shouts. Reaching out, he grabs Kuroo’s wrist, pulling him to his feet, as he marches him outside into the empty street. Kuroo can’t read his expression, hidden once more behind his hair. Slipping the ring back onto his finger, he allows Kenma to lead him around the side of the building, to where the stairs lead up to the Kozume home. Kenma releases him, then, turning to look at him with a frown, though his cheeks are still red.

“Are you serious?”

“I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life,” Kuroo says solemnly, pressing a hand over his heart. “I love you, Kenma. I’m going to change the law. I want you to marry me.”

Kenma peers up at him, searching for something. Hesitantly, Kuroo reaches out to brush Kenma’s hair behind his ear to see his full face. Kenma lets him, which is something.

“I meant everything I said,” Kuroo continues softly, letting his fingers linger on Kenma’s ear, sliding them down to his neck, running his thumb over the line of his jaw. “I’m really, truly sorry. Can you forgive me?”

Kenma sighs, gaze shifting to the side. He frowns then, craning his head to see into the street. “Where’s Lev and Tora?”

“Ah. I didn’t wait for them,” Kuroo admits, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish smile. “I ran all the way here as soon as I heard you quit.”

Kenma looks back at him sharply. Kuroo can only smile helplessly.

“I have no idea what you’re thinking,” he says. “Please tell me.”

Kenma bites his lip, chewing on it a moment before looking down at the ground between them. “I forgave you as soon as I saw you in the doorway,” he admits, arms crossing over his chest.

“Really?” Kuroo can’t help the way his smile widens. “Kenma, you—”

Kenma reaches up to press his finger against Kuroo’s lips, effectively cutting him off before resuming his defensive stance. “My father told me what he said to you. I said it wasn’t any of his business, and he shouldn’t have said it. But you shouldn’t have listened to him either.”

Kuroo grimaces. “I know. I’m sorry. I—”

Kenma gives him a look that shuts him up again. He sighs then and looks away. “I know I’m . . . not great at expressing myself. I shouldn’t have given you any room to doubt how I felt about you. So . . . I’m sorry. I guess . . . I had some insecurities too.”

Kuroo has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from saying anything.

Kenma wrinkles his nose, glancing up at him with a tiny, regretful frown. “You had a lot weighing on you. I didn’t want to be another burden. But by not saying anything, I added to the weight. I realize that now.” He inhales deeply, moving his hands to his sides, curling them into fists. “My feelings are the same as yours.”

Kuroo’s eyes widen, his chest about to burst. “Does that mean you’ll marry me?” he asks hopefully.

Kenma nods, cheeks growing red once more. Kuroo lurches forward, wrapping his arms around Kenma’s waist to pick him up in a hug. He spins him around in a circle, peppering his face with kisses, as the joy entering his chest lifts him up, straight out of the tunnel, into brilliant light.

“Ugh, stop,” Kenma protests, but his fingers wind their way into Kuroo’s hair, and when Kuroo does, he buries his face in Kuroo’s neck, clinging to him just as tightly as Kuroo’s holding him.

“I’m so happy,” Kuroo admits, pretty sure he hasn’t felt this way in over a year, since before his father got sick. “You make me so happy, Kenma.”

“’m happy too,” Kenma murmurs into his neck.

Kuroo beams. “Should we tell your parents the good news?”

“They’re going to make a big deal about it.”

Kuroo laughs. “It is a big deal!”

“Still . . .” Kenma pulls away just enough to look at him. “Can we just stay out here for a little while longer?”

Kuroo presses his forehead against Kenma’s, cheeks aching from his grin. “Of course. We can stay as long as you want.” He pauses. “Or, at least until my arms get tired.”

Kenma rolls his eyes at him, but Kuroo doesn’t care, because he kisses him next, and all Kuroo can think about then is the taste of Kenma’s lips and tongue, and how incredibly full his chest feels.

He’s in love, and Kenma loves him back.

In that moment, nothing else matters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see? i told you'd they'd be happy~
> 
> https://shions-heart.tumblr.com/


	9. Now and Forever, Peaceful, True

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there is smut at the end of this chapter! to skip it, stop at "He climbs up onto the bed" and CTRL/Command + F to "Slowly his fingers relax"

every story, new or ancient,  
bagatelle or work of art,  
all are tales of human failing;  
all are tales of love at heart.

\-- elton john, _aida_, "every story is a love story"

* * *

It’s almost ridiculous how different Kuroo feels when he wakes up on the day of his second wedding. Instead of dread hovering over him like a dark cloud, he feels buoyant, almost like he can fly. He can’t stop grinning, as he gets dressed, and Alisa does his hair. He keeps envisioning Kenma, dressed similarly to him, standing beside him in front of the priest at the temple. Will he speak too softly to hear when it comes time for the vows? Or will he display one of those rare moments of complete confidence, voice clear and strong? Either way, Kuroo’s looking forward to it.

“You look like you’re about to vibrate straight out of your kimono, Kuroo-sama,” Alisa says with a knowing grin.

Kuroo returns the grin sheepishly. “Am I that obvious?”

“I think it’s sweet.” Alisa reaches up to gently brush a strand of hair out of his eyes, where it’s escaped whatever product she put in it. “It’s good to see you smiling so freely, heika.”

This surprises Kuroo; he didn’t realize how much his moods must have affected his staff, but now that he thinks about it, it should’ve been obvious. They have to deal with him every day, after all. He bows to Alisa, startling her.

“Eh? What’s this for?” she asks with a nervous laugh.

“Thank you for dealing with my poor mood this past year and a half. I’m sorry if I was a burden.”

Alisa’s expression softens. She places a hand on his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “We all mourned the loss of your father, but you had the hardest time of it. You had to step immediately into his shoes without taking the proper time to grieve. You’ve had a lot on your plate, heika. We all are simply glad to be of good service to you; help lighten your load however we can.” She grins, placing her finger against her cheek. “It’s as you said, yes? We are all the blood of one body, working together.”

Kuroo feels his face grow red at the reminder of his speech the last day of the festival. The entire time he’d been speaking off the top of his head, and Alisa’s not the first one to tease him about his “blood of the body” analogy.

“I appreciate it. I appreciate all of you,” Kuroo says with a nod. He takes her hands then, looking at her earnestly. “I want to invite you all to the reception. Take the night off and join us in our celebration. Please let the others know!”

Alisa grins. “Of course! Thank you, heika!”

One hour later finds him back at the temple at the base of the mountain. The actual wedding procession is much smaller than his first. Kenma only has his parents with him, and Morisuke and Nobuyuki stand beside Kuroo. Hanako’s openly weeping, but Kuroo isn’t sure if her emotions are stemming from her son getting married or the fact that she and her husband are now royalty by proxy and get to move into the palace after the wedding. Apparently, she fainted when she heard the news.

Genki stands beside his wife, holding her hand and watching the ceremony with a stoic expression. He doesn’t entirely approve of the marriage. He still thinks Kuroo will hurt Kenma in some way, like he did before. Kuroo knows that he can’t change the man’s mind with simple words; he needs to show him that he will do his best to love and cherish Kenma the way he deserves. Still, it makes him uneasy, when he glances over and sees Genki staring at him.

Kenma’s hand nudges his, drawing his attention back to the priest. Kuroo exhales slowly, clearing the voices of doubt in his mind. He curls his fingers around Kenma’s, smiling as they squeeze back firmly.

The priest doesn’t bat an eye as he finishes the ceremony, apparently not at all bothered by the new law. There’s been some pushback from the people, less than what Kuroo expected, but nobody has lodged any formal complaint or declared him unfit to rule because of it. Kuroo realizes he actually _has_ been unfaithful. He didn’t have enough faith in his people, in their loyalty, in their admiration of him. He didn’t stop to consider that maybe the citizens of Nekoma respect him enough to wish him happiness, and don’t begrudge him taking a husband as well as a wife, and a peasant at that.

Morisuke tells him there are even songs written about the tale already. Love songs, about a king who falls in love with a servant and goes so far as to change years of tradition, just so they can be together.

He really has the best people of any country.

The reception takes place in the servants’ courtyard, the one Kuroo and Kenma cultivated (with Taketora and Lev’s help). The flowers aren’t yet in bloom (it’ll take at least a year for that), but the shrubs sit at the perimeter of the courtyard and on either side of the stone pathway like tiny sentinels, and the grass has grown to a lush, robust height. The tree’s branches are full and healthy, covered now in hanging lanterns of white and red. It looks like a completely different space than the sad, dirt covered plot of land it was before.

The courtyard isn’t large enough for all of the palace staff, and they spill out into the corridors, some servants even opening the doors to their rooms to provide more space. There is music and laughter and food, the atmosphere warm and inviting. Kenma’s parents are the only outsiders, but the others welcome though as though they’re a part of the family (and Kuroo supposes they are).

Kuroo’s so wrapped up in the well-wishes and stories and general comradery that he doesn’t notice Kenma’s missing until he reaches for his husband and finds he’s disappeared. Excusing himself from the group, Kuroo wanders through the courtyard, half-drunk already, calling for him.

“Kenma? Kenma!”

He peers into Kenma’s room and finds it still empty. He walks across the palace to the official garden, but nobody’s there. He checks the kitchen and the throne room, the bathrooms and the toilets, until he comes to his own room, the door open just a crack. He’s sure he closed it before leaving for the ceremony.

“Kenma?” he calls, as he slides the door further to step into the room.

Kenma looks up from where he’s seated at the foot of the bed on the floor, his back against it, a candle lit beside him as he holds a book in his lap. He’s still wearing his wedding kimono, but his feet are bare. His toes wiggle absently, as he turns his gaze back to the book.

“You’re missing the party,” Kuroo says, shutting the door behind him before going to sit beside Kenma, stretching his legs out in front of him. He knocks his zōri together a couple times before kicking them off.

“Too loud,” Kenma mutters, before wrinkling his nose. “And Lev kept trying to pick me up.”

Kuroo laughs, unable to help it at that mental picture. “He gets pretty excitable. Tora too, for that matter.”

Kenma hums noncommittally. Kuroo nudges his shoulder gently.

“So . . . you just want to spend our wedding night reading on the floor of my room?” He pauses, tilting his head. “Or, I guess it’s our room now, huh?” He grins at that. “Our room. You’re my husband, so it’s our room.”

Kenma hunches down against the bed, lifting the book to hide his face in it. “You can go back to the party if you’re going to be embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing? There’s no one here but us!” Kuroo laughs.

He turns to take the book from Kenma, making sure a bookmark is in place before setting it aside. Kenma frowns at him, but Kuroo can see a blush on his cheeks. Grinning, Kuroo brushes his thumb against his cheekbone, pushing his hair back behind one ear. Kenma lets him, blinking up at him with wide golden eyes that seem to catch fire in the orange glow of the candlelight.

“You’re my husband,” Kuroo repeats softly, pretty sure he won’t get tired of saying that.

“Don’t make such a big deal about it,” Kenma complains, hiding his face behind his hands.

Kuroo just grins, leaning forward to kiss those hands gently, one after the other. “You realize it is a big deal, though, right? I never thought . . . Ever since I was sixteen, and I realized I liked men, I didn’t think this could be an option for me. I thought I’d be stuck marrying a woman to continue the royal bloodline, able to love her eventually but never be _in_ love. That was a path I’d never be able to take. I’d accepted it, but it haunted me. It left an ache in my chest.” He holds his hand over his heart. “One that only seemed to grow larger over time.”

Kenma lowers his hands, peering over his fingertips at Kuroo. He gives Kenma a faint half-smile. “So, you see, this is a really big deal for me. Getting to love you, getting to marry you . . . it’s something I’ve wanted since I was a kid.” He takes Kenma’s hand, kissing his fingers lightly, and then his ring finger, where his signet ring with the royal crest sits. “So, let me be embarrassing. You’ve basically just made my most precious dream come true.”

Kenma looks at him, studying him with an intensity Kuroo can’t quite read. It’s not negative, though, simply contemplative. Then, he reaches up with his free hand, wrapping his hand around the back of Kuroo’s neck and drawing him in to kiss him firmly. Kuroo melts into it immediately, lacing his fingers through Kenma’s, as his other hand braces against the floor. Kenma’s lips move against his with deliberate precision, like he’s trying to make a statement with them.

Kuroo understands. He tilts his head, giving him a better angle to deepen the kiss, slotting his lips between Kenma’s to suck gently on his lower lip. Kenma responds by biting down on his upper one, nudging his mouth open to slip his tongue inside. Kuroo moans at the feel of it, warm, wet, and soft against his, so incredibly soft.

He pushes closer against Kenma, and they wind up entirely on the floor, Kenma’s back against the wood, as Kuroo rests carefully on top of him. Kenma’s fingers tug at his hair, as his other hand moves to the back of Kuroo’s wedding kimono, tugging insistently. Kuroo can’t help but smile, realizing what Kenma wants.

Pulling back, he gives Kenma’s nose a tiny kiss. “The bed will be more comfortable,” he says, wrapping his arm around Kenma’s waist and hoisting him up onto his feet.

Kenma frowns, pouting, but he moves toward the bed, already stripping off the layers of his kimono. Kuroo catches himself staring for a moment before realizing he’s missing a crucial ingredient for this night to go the way he plans. Grimacing, he steps toward the door.

“I, uh, have to go grab something really quick. I’ll be right back, I promise.”

Kenma shoots him an exasperated glare, but Kuroo slips outside before he can suffer any true wrath from him. He turns to find Morisuke directly behind him.

“Ack! Mori! Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

Morisuke rolls his eyes. “I wasn’t. I figured you snuck away from your own reception to consummate the marriage, so . . . I brought you this.” He reaches into the sleeve of his yukata, pulling out a small jar.

Kuroo takes it curiously. “What is it?”

Morisuke’s face grows red. “It’s oil. For . . . the consummation.”

Kuroo’s face follows suit, as realization dawns on him. “_Oh._” He tucks it away in his sleeve. “Er, thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. Seriously. Don’t.” Morisuke shakes his head quickly and turns away.

“Wait,” Kuroo says, smirking slowly as a thought comes to him. “How did you already have this?”

Morisuke’s cheeks could rival a tomato. “Don’t be ignorant! Not everyone in the palace is as inexperienced as you!”

Kuroo laughs. “Wait, so you’re saying you’re fucking someone?! Who?!”

“That’s none of your business.” Morisuke looks murderous, but with his cheeks so flushed it negates the effect somewhat.

“Don’t tell me it’s Lev!” Kuroo’s half-joking, but when Morisuke’s eyes widen he cackles. “Holy shit, it is, isn’t it? You’re fucking Lev!”

“Shut the fuck up!” Morisuke hisses, jumping to try and cover Kuroo’s mouth.

He’s so short, though, Kuroo easily evades him. “Holy shit. That kid must be over the moon. How in the world is he not telling _everyone_?!”

Morisuke grumbles under his breath. “I told him we’d stop if he told anyone,” he admits, crossing his arms over his chest.

Kuroo shakes his head, wiping tears from his eyes. “Damn, I knew he was head over heels for you, but I had no idea you _actually_ liked him back. How long has this even been happening?” he asks, wondering how he could’ve missed it.

“It’s only been a few months,” Morisuke says, looking pained. “He’s not a bad kid! He’s just . . . enthusiastic.”

“Yeah, I _bet_ he is,” Kuroo grins.

Morisuke scowls. “If you don’t shut up about it, I’m taking the oil back,” he threatens, taking a menacing step forward.

Even with the height difference, Kuroo doesn’t doubt Morisuke’s ability to kick his ass, so he lifts his hands in surrender. “I’m done, I’m done. Promise.”

Morisuke nods. “Good,” he says stiffly, turning to leave.

“But, hey, Mori,” Kuroo calls after him before he can go far.

Morisuke sighs but turns back around. “What?”

“Be gentle with him. If you’re serious about Lev, I’m happy for you. But he’s been in love with you for a really long time, and I’d hate to see one of my favorite guards get his heart broken by my best friend.”

Morisuke frowns at the ground. “It’s not like I’m heartless or something.” He rubs the back of his neck. “My feelings are . . . complicated. But I don’t intend to hurt him.”

Kuroo nods, relieved. “You’re a good guy, Mori. If this is what you want, I’ll support you.”

Morisuke bites his lip and looks like he’s about to get teary, so Kuroo waves him off to spare him the audience. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Thanks again for the oil.”

Morisuke bows and leaves hurriedly. Kuroo watches him go, genuinely wishing the best for him and Lev. Still, it’s kind of hilarious, and he chuckles to himself as he steps back inside his room.

All thoughts of those two leave him, however, as he spots Kenma on his bed, once more reading his book, only this time completely nude.

“Uh.”

Kenma glances up at him, blinking. “Ah. So, you didn’t get lost.”

Kuroo flushes, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry, no, I just . . . ran into Morisuke. He gave me what we needed.” He pulls the jar from his sleeve, stepping over to set it on the bedside table. He realizes his fingers are trembling, as he starts to tug on his obi, attempting to get it off. “Shit, sorry. I just . . . I haven’t done this in a really, _really_ long time.”

Kenma closes his book, setting it aside. “I’ve never done it.”

Kuroo freezes, his eyes widening. “Oh. Really? Shit. I mean, there’s nothing wrong with that of course, I-I just . . .” He can feel his heart racing, threatening to burst from his chest. His experience consists of a single fumbled, angry encounter with Daishou when he was seventeen, after Daishou’s teasing became too much to bear during one festival. Kuroo immediately regretted it and hasn’t been with anyone since. To think he’s going to be Kenma’s very _first_, with his limited knowledge and insecurities on top of it . . . what if it’s terrible? What if he hurts Kenma somehow? What if they’re not sexually compatible at all? What if Kuroo loses it too soon? What if he can’t make Kenma climax at _all_?

His chest tightens, squeezing all the air out of his lungs. He can’t breathe. He clutches at the front of his kimono, trying to remember how. Warm hands cradle his face, lifting his head to meet Kenma’s gaze. He’s standing on the bed, taller than Kuroo now, and he brushes his thumbs across Kuroo’s cheekbones.

“Count of five,” he instructs softly.

Kuroo nods as best he can, inhaling and holding the breath for five counts before slowly exhaling.

“Again,” Kenma says, face pinched with concern, but touch gentle, as he moves one hand to brush his fingers through Kuroo’s hair.

Kuroo repeats the technique, slowly beginning to feel his racing heart calm, his chest loosen. He blinks, shame and guilt filling him. This isn’t how he envisioned his wedding night with Kenma to go. He’s already ruined it.

Kenma shakes his head. “You haven’t ruined anything,” he tells him, like he read his mind. He presses a light kiss against Kuroo’s forehead, before kissing the tip of his nose and then his mouth. “We’ll take it slow.”

Kuroo nods, relief chasing away the other thoughts. He lifts his arms, wrapping them around Kenma’s waist, burying his face in his warm chest. He chuckles half-heartedly, realizing Kenma’s completely naked with him fully dressed, reminiscent of that night before his first wedding.

“I still can’t believe you actually stripped for me, that night,” he admits, nuzzling his face against the skin of Kenma’s chest. “I was drunk out of my mind. You didn’t have to listen to me.”

“I wanted to,” Kenma admits quietly after a moment. “You were so sad . . . I wanted to help, however I could.”

“It was selfish of me to ask. I’m sorry,” Kuroo murmurs.

Kenma pushes him back enough to look down at him, shaking his head. “What did I say? You can be selfish with me.” He strokes his fingertips down the side of Kuroo’s face. “I want you to be.”

Kuroo smiles. “I love you.”

Turning his head, he kisses the inside of Kenma’s wrist before pulling away. Taking Kenma’s waist in his hands, he guides him back down onto the bed, before taking a step back and pulling off his kimono. This time, his hands move steadily, as they untie his obi and peel back the multiple layers. Kenma picks up his book to set it aside on the bedside table, before he reclines against the pillows, watching unabashedly, as Kuroo removes his clothing. He tries not to be embarrassed by the scrutiny, knowing he probably deserves it, considering.

He climbs up onto the bed once he’s naked, leaning over Kenma to kiss him, slow and deep. Kenma responds in kind, wrapping one arm around him to press his fingers into his back, as his other hand moves through Kuroo’s hair. Kuroo sets his hand against Kenma’s waist, slipping it around to the small of his back in order to pull him closer, shivering at the feel of their bare skin meeting. Kenma nibbles on his lower lip, and Kuroo, now knowing the signal, parts for his tongue, greeting it with his own. He moans softly, sliding his hand down to grasp Kenma’s ass, giving it a firm squeeze. Kenma makes a small noise in response, his fingers tightening in his hair.

Banishing all thoughts aside, Kuroo focuses on his senses. The smooth, warm feel of Kenma’s skin under his hand, the sound of his breaths, panting quietly against his mouth, the taste of his tongue, the smell of his hair. He allows himself to be distracted by them, surrounded by them. He’s in this moment with Kenma, and he doesn’t want to be anywhere else.

He shifts to the side just slightly, in order to reach between them and grasp Kenma’s half-hard length in his hand. Kenma shudders beneath him, as he begins to pull and stroke slowly. His own body responds to Kenma’s soft gasps of pleasure, the thickening warmth of him in his palm, the slickness that follows once Kenma begins to drip pre-cum onto his hand. Kuroo can’t help but rut slightly against Kenma’s hip, dragging his own erection across his skin, leaving trails of his own liquid against him.

Kenma mewls quietly, squirming. His mouth and teeth begin to bite and suck at Kuroo’s jaw, ear, and neck, his tongue following. Kuroo shivers at the feel of it, moaning against Kenma’s ear, as he presses his own kisses and bites against it and the side of his neck.

“Kuro,” Kenma moans, and the nickname causes Kuroo to grin.

Pulling back, he reaches for the jar on the table beside them. It’s awkward to get it open with one hand, so Kenma helps him, unstopping it and pouring the oil over his fingers. Some drips onto his stomach, and Kuroo’s cock twitches as he watches goosebumps appear along Kenma’s skin. Kenma’s stomach quivers, as the oil slides toward his navel. Against his better judgement, Kuroo bends his head to chase the oil with his tongue, licking up the spill. It doesn’t taste great, but the gasp it elicits from Kenma makes it worth it.

“I love you,” Kuroo murmurs, kissing his stomach, then his chest, until he reaches his mouth.

As he kisses him, Kuroo nudges Kenma’s thighs apart, reaching down between them to search for his entrance with his slicked-up fingers. Once he finds it, he gently massages the hole, causing Kenma to tremble again. Very carefully, he sinks his finger in, just up to the first knuckle. Kenma clenches around the intrusion, but Kuroo presses kiss after kiss against his mouth and jaw and neck until he begins to relax.

Kuroo takes his time working his fingers into Kenma. He starts with one, thrusting gently, moving it about until Kenma gets used to it, before inserting a second. Kenma hisses softly, arching his hips, as his fingers dig into Kuroo’s back. Kuroo takes the opportunity to roll his tongue over one of Kenma’s nipples, kissing it and sucking on it, until Kenma’s mewling again in pleasure. Then he starts to thrust and scissor his fingers. Kenma shudders but takes them in better than the first, and by the time Kuroo works a third finger into him, he’s squirming, panting, grimacing.

“Fuck,” Kuroo breathes, as he watches Kenma react to his fingers thrusting, slow and steady, in and out of him. He’s careful not to push too deeply, not wanting him to lose it too soon. Even so, Kenma trembles, more pre-cum smearing across his stomach, as it leaks from his tip.

“_Kuro_,” Kenma breathes, opening his eyes. They’re glassy with need, and Kuroo can’t help but smile at his flushed cheeks, the way his hair sticks to them with sweat.

“Yes, my love?” he replies cheekily.

Kenma glares at him.

“Yes, yes, I know,” Kuroo laughs, kissing the tip of his nose before pulling his fingers out. His own body aches from the lack of contact, the flush from watching Kenma having spread from his head down to his toes. He’s fully erect and _throbbing_, and when he sits up to spread oil over his cock, he shudders at the intense pleasure that spikes through his thighs, causing them to quiver.

Kenma pants heavily beside him before turning over onto his stomach. Kuroo’s surprised, until he sees the way Kenma’s gripping the pillow, his teeth digging into it. He grins, wondering if Kenma’s bracing himself for the pain or the pleasure.

“I’ll go slow, don’t worry,” he tells him, moving up onto his knees behind him. He grasps Kenma’s hips, lifting them off the bed, nudging his legs apart so he can kneel between them.

“Fuck that,” Kenma mutters, barely audible.

Kuroo raises his eyebrows. “Oh? Didn’t you say we would go slow?”

Kenma shoots him another frown over his shoulder. Kuroo smirks, massaging the ass in his hands slowly. “Mmm, I guess we don’t have to go _too_ slow,” he allows, as he lines himself up.

Kenma’s entire body stiffens, as he carefully pushes his tip into him. Kuroo has to pause himself, gasping at the incredible pressure he feels, clenching around him.

“Shit,” he mutters, gripping Kenma’s hips tightly, as it takes everything in him not to shove the rest of the way in. Instead, he waits for Kenma’s body to relax some, before he gently works his way inside. It’s agonizing. The pleasure shoots through him, tingling throughout his entire body, and he cries out softly, as he pushes past Kenma’s tense walls to settle into him completely.

Kenma pants heavily into the pillow, burying his face deeper into it, as he groans. His body trembles, and Kuroo takes a moment to run his hands up and down his sides and hips, trying to catch his own breath.

“Fuck, Kenma,” he gasps. “You’re so fucking tight. Fuck.”

Kenma’s knuckles have turned white, so Kuroo does his best to remain still, rubbing Kenma’s sides and hips and thighs, massaging them gently, until he feels Kenma begin to relax once more.

“I’m going to start moving,” he warns him, just in case.

“Fucking . . . do it already,” is his response.

Kuroo laughs breathlessly, before he makes shallow thrusts, pulling halfway out before sinking back into Kenma’s wonderfully tight ass. It’s amazing. He can feel Kenma squeeze around him, hot and firm; he can feel the pounding beat of his heart, or maybe it’s his own. He can’t tell. In that moment, they’re completely connected, it seems.

“Fuck, _Kenma_.” Kuroo bends over him, bracing one hand on the bed, the other grasping Kenma’s hip, as his thrusts quicken, his hips stuttering into a faster rhythm.

Kenma groans into the pillow, and when Kuroo reaches around curiously, he finds his cock dripping rapidly onto the sheets of the bed. Kenma’s entire body trembles at his touch, and he clenches around Kuroo once more, causing Kuroo to curse again. The heat is intense. It curls through him, the pleasure growing brighter and hotter the more he moves inside of Kenma.

“Nng, Kuro, _more_,” Kenma moans.

Kuroo doesn’t hesitate to oblige. He’s aching for it himself. Pulling back to get better leverage, he grips Kenma’s hips in both hands, shoving into him harder and faster. The friction increases, sending waves of pleasure crashing through him, growing brighter and hotter with each movement. His hips slap against Kenma’s, and he can hear Kenma’s soft cries beneath him, nearly drown out by his own heavy pants and moans.

He feels so good. It feels so good. Kuroo’s pretty sure his heart is about to burst from his chest, if the heat doesn’t get to him first.

“Kuro, _Kuro_.” Kenma curls into himself, his body shaking once more.

Kuroo reaches around again, grasping Kenma’s leaking cock and giving it a few quick tugs. Kenma cries out sharply, his head lifting from the pillow, as his back arches. He stiffens, spilling out over Kuroo’s hand, as he continues to stroke and pull on him. Kuroo grins, relieved to feel it, to hear Kenma’s heavy pants, as he groans.

He presses his face back into the pillow, and Kuroo’s attention returns to his own search for climax. He grimaces, grasping Kenma’s hip again in his wet hand, his other gripping so tightly there may be a bruise later. He slams into Kenma again and again, sweat dripping down the sides of his face. Kenma whimpers, fingers digging into the pillow.

“_Kuro_,” he says, his voice breaking.

“I’m close, I’m close,” Kuroo assures him breathlessly. He can feel the pleasure rising, racing toward the peak. Kenma’s ass is red, plump and firm. He gives it a squeeze, as Kenma squirms beneath him. Kuroo closes his eyes, focusing only on the pleasure, on the heat twisting tighter and tighter within him, until it bursts, exploding into a million stars behind his eyes.

He cries out sharply at the intensity of the sensation, spilling into Kenma with a low groan, as his entire body shakes. When he slides out of him, he opens his eyes, staring blankly at the white substance dripping out of Kenma, before Kenma shudders and collapses onto the bed, panting heavily.

Kuroo moves to lay down beside him, reaching over with his clean hand to brush sweaty strands of hair away from his face.

“S-sorry,” he gasps quietly. “Was that too much?”

Kenma shakes his head, eyes still closed. Slowly his fingers relax from their death-grip on the pillow, and his eyes flutter open. He gives Kuroo the tiniest smile, but it’s full of satisfaction. Kuroo sighs in relief, shifting closer in order to kiss his shoulder lightly.

“I love you,” he says again, feeling like the luckiest man in the world just then.

Kenma lifts his head, leaning over to kiss Kuroo’s lips gently, a small peck. “I love you too,” he replies, barely above a whisper.

Kuroo grins, turning to wrap his arm around Kenma, but Kenma shrugs him off with a wrinkle of his nose. “Too hot,” he complains.

Kuroo laughs. “Okay, okay. I’ll wait to cuddle until after we’ve cooled down a bit,” he holds up his hand, turning onto his back to stare up at the ceiling, hands folded on his stomach.

They’re both a mess and should probably take a bath, but he’s in no rush, and Kenma doesn’t seem to be either.

“I should probably give Daishou that trade route after all,” he realizes after a moment.

“Why?” Kenma grunts softly.

Kuroo smirks ruefully. “Well, without him this wouldn’t have happened, ironically enough.” He turns his head to look at Kenma. “Plus, I’d love to see the look on his face when I tell him that I’m giving him the trade route because his law allowed me to marry the man of my dreams.”

“Will that bother him?”

“Oh yeah, it’ll bother the shit out of him.”

Kenma smirks, eyes still closed. “Do it, then.”

Kuroo chuckles. “I will.”

He can see Kenma starting to shiver, so he sits up. “Bath time?” he asks.

Kenma nods. Kuroo stands, moving around the bed to pick Kenma up in his arms. Kenma doesn’t protest, but wraps his arms around Kuroo’s neck, resting his head against his shoulder with a soft sigh. Kuroo carries him over to the adjoining bathroom, setting him in the tub before wrapping a towel around his waist and poking his head out of the door to call for some hot water.

It takes less than ten minutes for a couple servants to arrive, and they pour the hot water into the tub where Kenma sits. He shivers some, and Kuroo thanks the servants, who leave quickly after bowing, no doubt eager to return to the party. He can still hear the faint sounds of music even on this side of the palace.

As he sinks into the hot water with a deep sigh, Kenma immediately adjusts to sit between his legs, leaning back against his chest. Kuroo grins, wrapping his arm around him and kissing the top of his head.

“Thank you.”

“Mm?”

“For being rude to me when I ran into you that day we met. I couldn’t get you out of my mind. I had to meet this small servant who dared to be rude to the king.” Kuroo grins, stroking his thumb against Kenma’s arm lightly.

“You _did_ run into me.”

Kuroo laughs. “That I did. I’m glad I did, too.”

“Mm.” Kenma sinks deeper into the water, pulling Kuroo’s arm up higher on his chest, holding it with both hands. “I’m glad you did too,” he murmurs.

Kuroo wraps his other arm around him, kissing the top of his head again, before resting his chin against it and staring off past the open window to the twinkling stars of the night sky.

For the first time in a long time, he feels no anxiety curling through his stomach. There’s no unease or discontent, no heavy weight draped over his shoulders. Instead, a sense of calm settles over him, foreign yet not altogether unfamiliar.

Peace. That’s the word.

Finally, he’s at peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you made it to the end of this totally self-indulgant little fic, thank you so much! /)u(\ I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it~ kuroken will always and forever be my number one otp and it felt SO GOOD to write a multi-chapter with them again <3
> 
> (also, listen to _Aida_! it's totally worth the heartache. i mean it's elton john, come on!)
> 
> https://shions-heart.tumblr.com/


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